


Body of Man

by Loracine



Series: Debts and Desperation [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Analingus, Biting, Bodyswap, Boy!OFC, Cunnilingus, Deep Throating, Dirty Talk, Dvergr, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fellatio, Homosexual Sex, I'm Going to Hell, Lust-Induced Blasphemy, M/M, Mild Kink, Mild Pain Kink, Multi, Non-Sexual Bondage, One Night Stand, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, POV Outsider, Porn With Plot, Profanity, Shameless Smut, Swingers, Threesome, Torture, Unbeta'd, blowjob, girl!Dean, menage a' trois, modified spit roast, not a true relationship, ride 'em cowboy, rimjob, sit on my face, sodomy, surprise cameo appearance, there are no witches, tree spirits, whumpage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loracine/pseuds/Loracine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was when his current situation actually sank in. Dean ignored the asshole and found a mirror, the passenger side mirror of the girl's lime green 1973 Dodge Charger. He got a glimpse of pale brown eyes, lightly tanned skin, and long brown hair. His hands immediately dropped to squeeze the very perky breasts on his chest...umm, her chest. His exclamation of, "Son of a bitch," came out in a rather undignified feminine squeak rather than the deep growl he had been going for. "I fucking hate witches."</p><p>Also contains my art on the <a href="http://loracine.livejournal.com/5109.html">LiveJournal</a> post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I receive no monetary compensation. If you recognize it, I don't own it.
> 
> Also, all mistakes are my own. I have no beta.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter is a blurb I wrote using the first sentence from "Alpha & Omega" by Patricia Briggs. I have expanded this and inserted my new female character into a little fan fiction story with the boys.

The wind was chill and the cold froze the ends of her toes. Tiny specks of white fell and then melted on the gleaming hood of her lime green 1973 Dodge Charger. If she had known she'd end up in Ruby, South Carolina in a freaking snow storm she would have traded her sandals for a sturdy pair of closed toed boots, but no day could be planned perfectly. If she made it home this time she vowed to leave her Doc Martens in the damn trunk for emergencies.

The Ruger .38 in her face gestured demandingly to her right and she looked at the spot of dirty pavement she had been instructed to "sit the fuck down" on. It was wet and cold and so not what she wanted to do. But, she adjusted her mini jean shorts and lowered herself down, wincing as the wet chill spread from her backside in a steady numbing ache.

Great. At this rate she'd probably die of hypothermia before the bullet had the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Soundtrack...
> 
> The All-American Rejects "Night Drive (Acoustic)" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bc5P5Z-U0e8
> 
> Three Days Grace "Get Out Alive" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EC9Jz8wGJ5I&spfreload=10
> 
> Jethro Tull "Locomotive Breath" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i19d1QnstsA&spfreload=10
> 
> Deep Purple "Child in Time" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4wAPTsjhrjM&spfreload=10
> 
> Boston "Smokin'" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GzMx9CnhVk
> 
> The Doors "Roadhouse Blues" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pEMd1SdkAE
> 
> Yes "Roundabout" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Tdu4uKSZ3M
> 
> Led Zeppelin "Good Times Bad Times" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gAVB25yjY5I&spfreload=10
> 
> Pink Floyd "Have a Cigar" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMr3KtYUCcI&spfreload=10
> 
> Guns N' Roses "Mr. Brownstone" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KVYDnQwi3OQ&spfreload=10
> 
> Spineshank "Smothered" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRevxD4FsRI
> 
> Hatebreed "Destroy Everything" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_VTfrF6TWU&spfreload=10
> 
> Dropkick Murphys "Going Out In Style" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7g3RuoreRc
> 
> The Rumjacks "An Irish Pub Song" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tDTQQWSmo8s
> 
> Neil Young "Old Man" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYUgGs9IStY
> 
> The Rolling Stones "Sympathy for The Devil" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJTGaJbQu3s


	2. His Name was Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens, or the haze of lust. You decide.
> 
> WARNING: explicit/graphic sexual content

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally did not intend anything explicit in this fic. There were going to be allusions to sex and violence. I swear, just allusions. You know, like they do in the show. *head desk* One hour of writing destroyed all my careful planning. I think I need to get laid.
> 
> Enjoy :)
> 
> (Also, I do not have a beta. All mistakes are my own.)

76 hours ago...

She coaxed her car to the back of the parking lot, turned off the engine, and sighed in relief. The Charger had never dealt with the heat well and today was turning out to be positively roasting. She could actually see the air shimmering on the blacktop and the air conditioning had given up several weeks ago. The heat was even more stifling without the soothing rumble of the V8 to distract her. She made a face when she realized she would have to peel the sticky skin of her thighs from the leather upholstery. That was just awesome. For only being four thirty in the afternoon it had turned out to be a pretty shitty day. Seven hundred miles lay between her and her last meal and another three hundred in front of her before she could stop for the night. Most of her clothing lay in a heap, abandoned at the last motel she had braved. The backpack in the trunk, her emergency go- pack, was pretty much all she had left. She chewed her lip. She was stalling. Her stomach made a valiant effort at getting her attention. She needed to eat and a crappy burrito from a gas station fridge was no longer going to satisfy. A trickle of sweat dislodged itself from her hairline and glided between her shoulder blades, the open windows not even pretending to make a dent in the rising temperature of the interior. She shudder at the wetness. That got her moving. She stuffed a small wad of cash into the front pocket of her shorts and ignored the tearing sensation of heated flesh separating from moist leather as she got out of the car. Plastering on what she could only hope was a suitably butch face, she headed into the bar. She couldn't resist fondly patting the shiny green paint, though, as she left the Charger in the parking lot.

The rush of cool air when she opened the door almost had her eyes closing in ecstasy. This bar was much like any other hole in the wall along the highways. A scarred wooden bar top lovingly polished and covered in peanut shells, a broken jukebox with a thick layer of dust, a small selection of cheap beer on tap, the pervasive stench of cigarettes hanging in the air and burning her nostrils, and the dismally low lighting all made for a scene she had seen a hundred times before and probably wouldn't remember tomorrow. She even got the head swivel and token gap-toothed leers that had been featured at her last stop. She counted to five. What she wouldn't give to get out of these small town hickvilles. The air conditioning made up for all of it, though. Cool air caressed her overheated skin, wicking away the moisture that had collected on her brow and between her shoulder blades. She straightened her spine and crossed the floor to perch on a barstool, feeling like a child when she had to rest her feet on the rungs rather than leaving them swinging in thin air nearly a foot off the ground.

The drunk at the end of the bar (Seriously, who gets drunk before five in the afternoon?) made some sort of half-formed comment she assumed was supposed to be some sort of come on. "Hey pretshty"...*burp*..."Wan...(unintelligible)...me?"

The bartender gave her raised eyebrows. She had been stupid to walk in here by herself, but she hadn't seen a diner in miles. He didn't blink, though, when she ordered a bacon cheeseburger and their last bottle of something rich and so black it could be its own food group. Gripping the glass bottle like a lifeline she tried her best to ignore the small town wildlife around her. She even went so far as to claim the only booth in the entire place. She put her back to the wall and made it clear she was here for the burger, and only the burger. It didn't work nearly as well as she had been hoping. In thirty minutes she had seven lewd flirtations, three offers of marriage, and one very persistent request for a dance. Maybe it was those little noises she was making as she ate.

Then the door opened and in swaggered one very pretty bowlegged tall drink of water, bringing a fresh wave of the desert heat with him. She was just finishing the last bite of her little piece of red meat heaven, the grease making the tips of her fingers shiny. She watched him out of the corners of her eyes as she licked the mess from her fingers. Like her, his expression said he had seen better days. She got a glimpse of long eyelashes and freckles. His survey of the room was quick, but thorough and she didn't miss the interest on his face when he spied her in the shadows of the corner booth. He hesitated at the door before making his decision and mounted a stool. He knocked his first shot down like he was drinking ambrosia and held the glass out for another. When he spoke his voice was low, too low to catch his words from where she was sitting.

She was tempted to stay, she really was. She even had a half dozen reasons why stopping here for the night wouldn't be such a bad thing. Reason number one was now across the room his long fingers holding a pool cue and his nearly feminine lips wrapped around the mouth of a beer bottle. Yep, any other day she would be like a damned dog in heat panting after that one. Tonight, however, she was cursing whatever fate set that particular five o'clock shadow in her path.

Pretty was just beginning to win his second game of pool when she decided to stop torturing herself. She left extra money on the table, recompense for only ordering one drink then walked out the door. And walked right back in, hurriedly and with a wide-eyed sort of expression on her face. She backed up into the bar willing to door to remain closed until she met fleshy resistance, her foot slamming down on a worn tennis shoe because she couldn't force her eyes from the door to watch were she was going. Meaty arms and thick fingers reached up, boxing her in and holding her shoulders.

He got no further than, "Easy there," before she had gotten free with a well-placed elbow to the ribs. She was breathing hard and she knew it, the blood rushing in her ears. She would have been fine if he hadn't trapped her. If he hadn't grabbed her. He looked like he was going to hit her, his fist balling up and the veins in his temples throbbing. He wasn't nearly as drunk as he had looked. She was going to have a little trouble dodging him. His fist was about to fly and she was balanced on the balls of her feet, knees bent just a little when a whiskey rough voice spoke low.

"Give her some space," he said. That was it. No placating comments. No command. Just four little words in that spine tingling voice like he was used to being obeyed.

The man shook his head, "She's all yours." He threw a, "good luck," over his shoulder as he went back to his friends.

She stood uncertain. Green eyes framed by long eyelashes seemed to assess her from her canvas shoes to the shoulder length brown hair growing from her head. She looked a mess and she knew it. She figured she might as well own up to it. No sense in being ashamed of road dirt is what her uncle had always told her. With an inward shrug she gave him a devilish smile that was half teeth and straightened up from the slight crouch she had adopted in self-defense.

Pretty's gaze became even more appreciative. She nearly rolled her eyes. She needed a long soak in a hot tub and a fresh change of clothing, unless he liked his women a little dirty. She gave him another look. God, he was gorgeous and if she wasn't mistaken he didn't find her half bad. She could work with that. In fact, it took a total of two games of pool, a couple more beers, and a body shot before she was tugging him out the backdoor. He caught on fast.

Pretty backed her up against the wall beneath the fading light of the sun. His mouth slammed down on hers and he began to devour her, lush lips nipping and then grinding against hers in a rhythm that left her breathless. His deft fingers caressed what cleavage he could reach through the fabric of her shirt leaving tingles in their wake. He pulled back to nibble delicately along the shell of her ear, his breath proving to be very distracting. Shivers raced up and down her spine with each slow exhale.

"Bite me," she whispered into his ear, and he obeyed.

He slid his lips down from the shell of her ear to the column of her neck, flicking his tongue along the way. Just when she thought he was going to leave her wanting he took a sizable chunk of her flesh between his teeth and bit down, hard. She gasped and thrust her hips against him, riding his jean-clad thigh. The glow of subspace flickered behind her eyes with the pain. It was almost too much and yet not near enough. She barely noticed when he pulled back to slide her shorts off her body. Then he was right there back with her and once more she was panting into his mouth. She keened when his hand found the wetness between her legs, pinching first one labia and then the other through the thin lace thong she was wearing. He sealed his mouth over hers to swallow the sound before pulling back to let her breath.

Her vision was filled with green, his eyes were a startling crystal emerald. She blinked up at him and he gave her this grin that was almost blinding and so unbelievably sexy. Then he did something and she gasped. Her eyes snapped shut on reflex making her lose sight of his mesmerizing emerald eyes. His talented fingers had set up a slow motion, painting circles around her clit, massaging the roughness of the lace over that little button of nerves. Static was sparking in her spine, shorting out her brain. It took her a moment to gather herself, but finally her hand got with the program. She needed to touch him. She reached out and found the rigid length that was his erection behind the denim of his jeans, petting it as it leapt beneath her touch. His answering groan was reward enough for the effort of concentration. He sounded wrecked, his voice having gone from whiskey to gravel.

She almost thought she had him before he decided to get polite and actually tell her what he was going to do. His mouth found her ear and she shivered as he said, "I'm going to eat you out." It wasn't the smoothest pickup line she had ever heard, and there was no way in hell she was going to turn down the offer. If his tongue could do half the things his fingers were doing right now she was heading for bliss.

Her lids snapped open and she nodded as he looked straight into her eyes. When he didn't do anything in response she finally managed a one word answer, "Yes." Her voice was wrecked too. She liked the way it made her sound.

His hand stilled as he pulled back just a little. "You got something close by, sweetheart? As much as I would like to do this up against a brick wall, I think your back would protest later," he said in that low gravel that was bypassing her brain and coiling up her groin. When she responded by bucking her hips against him he chuckled, "You're an eager one." He looked behind him, a quick glance, and bit his lips as he considered. She ran her fingernails down the bulge at his crotch and he inhaled sharply. "You got a car," he asked.

She leaned up like she was going to say something and nibbled at his clavicle peaking over the collar of his shirt. She spoke, "Green Charger," into his skin, tasting salt and male with her tongue as she did.

He asked her where the keys were and she must have been pretty far gone because she just handed them over. She didn't wait for his next move. She was too far gone. Her hands snaked beneath his shirt, finding smooth skin and strong muscle. She scraped her nails along the column of his back, ending just a little inside of the waistband of his jeans. Then she took two bold handfuls of his ass, solid muscle. It took him less than a second to spot her car not far away and he practically picked her up and hauled her over to it.

He was headed for the passenger door when she shook her head. "Put me on the hood," she said with a grin of her own and her bare ass met polished steel as he complied. This was further than she had ever gone out in the open like this. A fleeting thought crossed her mind that she should be pushing him away not widening her legs to give him better access. She thought, _What the hell_ , as she did. _You only live once right?_

He climbed up onto the hood with her, stretching his torso between her legs. She could feel the heat of him through what little clothing she had left. His breath ghosted over her flesh, raising goosebumps. Then his hands steadied her hips against the hood. He looked up and checked her expression one more time. He was waiting for her to stop him with his mouth so close. "Yes," she repeated, afraid he would stop now that she was finally feeling the burn of lust for the first time in a long while. Oh, she had smoldered and tingled but now she was letting herself relax enough to feel the ember that was now sitting in her gut, little fingers of heat radiating outward.

He took her at her word. He leaned in and traced a hot wet line along the fabric covering her slit. He licked until she was squirming for more, never giving her enough. He pressed her down into the car beneath them to still her movements and went back to work. The back of her head hit steel with a thunk and her spine bowed when his tongue curled around her clit through the fabric.

She moaned, "Please."

He chuckled and nipped at the tender skin of her inner thigh, bypassing her cunt altogether. This got her mad enough that she grabbed a chunk of his spiked dirty blonde hair and pushed his face into her pussy. He didn't argue. His thumb pushed aside her thong as he turned his head and bit the soft skin at the juncture of thigh and groin. She hissed. That was going to leave a mark. Then he opened his mouth and sucked the top half of her pussy between his lips, flicking hard at the hood guarding her clit. She couldn't stop the half-scream escaping from her throat or the minute thrusts her hips made. He took two fingers and circled my weeping slit, massaging the sensitive flesh. She wrapped her legs around his torso, the heels of her shoes perched on his ass.

"Ngnnn," she managed to grit out. Her mouth was open and she was panting hard, her lungs struggling to get enough oxygen into the system to keep up with the pleasure rolling over her.

He released her from his mouth, one hand petting along her thigh as if to soothe her. He nuzzled her nether lips, ghosting his mouth over the length of her. Her panting slowed. He looked up and asked, "You ok?"

She licked her lips. Her pupils were blown wide and a flush had exploded across her pale skin. "Don't you dare stop," she pleaded.

"So pretty," he mused as he lowered his head again. His lips pushed aside the hood covering that little button of nerves and he fastened onto it lightly with his teeth. She closed her eyes when he plunged those two fingers into her. Her back attempted to bow. She was getting close. She could feel the ache bloom outward and turning into tingles, then sparking arcs of lightning. His tongue followed with swift flicking strokes and she fell into orgasm, spasming against the car helplessly as he braced her from falling. He licked and stroked her lazily as she came down. When the spasms ceased he moved her thong back into position and placed a light kiss against the skin of her inner thigh. He crawled up the hood on hands and knees until he was blanketing her body. Her eyes fluttered open. He smiled that cocky grin, "Name's Dean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments?


	3. Dean Gets Screwed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More shameless smut with a bit of plot at the end.
> 
> WARNING: explicit/graphic sexual content

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how my bio says that I am in Medical School? Well, I really meant it. I actually am in Medical School. I am staring at a list of diuretic drugs I have to memorize for the exam coming up. Honest. This chapter just sort of happened. Most of it was already written when I published the last one. I have four more chapters mapped out. What comes next will be much heavier in plot. I'll be adding tags as I go since I believe sometimes a tag can give away a bit to much before it is time. In addition, I am really bad at sticking to a script.
> 
> Also, I made a few minor changes to Chapter 2, mostly spelling.grammatical corrections. This is my first writing endeavor where people get to see my work as I write it. Well, where anyone gets to actually see it at all, ever. I'll be more careful in the future.

She looked up into gleaming emerald eyes, gave him her own version of a cock-sure grin and said, "Rhea. That better not have been the whole ballgame, Dean."

"There is more, sweetheart," he assured her. Then he slid off of the car and helped her up. "This time I want to see what this sweet ride of yours looks like on the inside," he said as he got them arranged in the back seat.

The rest of her clothes didn't survive much longer. Her shirt ended up on the dashboard and he didn't even bother taking off her bra before fastening his mouth on one nipple, his hand squeezing the other. "Like ripe berries," he growled out, "and they taste even better." He circled it with his teeth, worrying at the areola.

"Ahh...its criminal," she gasped out.

"Mmmm," he hummed against her breast.

She was humming, all splayed out in the backseat. One leg was up by the back window and the other was planted on the floorboards. She should feel silly wearing nothing but her thong and a pair of canvas shoes with her bra up around her neck. She didn't. She had plenty to distract herself with. Her hips bucked up against the thigh in between her legs. The denim scraped on sensitive skin and she had to fight to remain coherent. "The body of a greek god and the skills of one too," she managed to get out.

His mouth kept wandering, leaving wet lines of fire in his wake. Her bra disappeared. "You comparing me to Zeus," he asked, almost sounding offended.

She reached down to squeeze the rather large bulge in the crotch of the jeans she had yet to tear from him. "I was thinking more of Priapus," she admitted. "Big cock," she stroked and was rewarded with a guttural groan practically yanked from his chest, "and a mouth made for..."

He covered her mouth with his, silencing her. The kiss was brutal, almost painful. She tasted copper. "Don't say it," he warned. "Just let me make you feel good." Lick. "I want to sink so deep into your pussy,'" nibble, "you'll feel me for days."

His long body was scrunched up, even in the spacious rear of her 1973 muscle car. She had called the poor thing a boat when she had first seen it in her driveway. It had grown on her since. There were advantages to the extra room in situations like these. Dean was tall enough that her nose would end up planted on a pec if they were standing. He was so much larger than her, so much stronger. Her spine bowed again, pressing her flesh against the shirt he still wore. Apparently she really liked that thought.

"Would you like that. My dick pounding hard and deep," he breathed into her ear. The vibration of his words sent the muscles in the small of her back tingling and jumping. "I bet you are so tight, so hot, so wet," each phrase was punctuated by a roll of his hips into her.

"Ngnnn," she managed to get out. Her pussy wept, seeping fluid and begging to be filled, soaking the front of his jeans. It was so tempting to just let him take over.

His hips swiveled, grinding the seam of his jeans against her weeping core. "Will you let me inside," he said, less of a question and more of a demand. He was getting more sure of her.

Yep, she was in sensation overload. The fucker really knew how to push buttons. Her higher reasoning was shutting down, making her a creature solely of sensation. Rhea, though, wasn't one to be passive. She gathered her resolved and shoved at his shoulders. Words were initially beyond her so she gave him a pointed look. He wasn't fast enough to respond so she reached down and tugged his shirt up to reinforce the idea in his lust-soaked brain. Her, "get naked," was less of a suggestion and more of an ironclad order. She even started working on his jeans when he got with the program and his shirt ended up in the back window, on top of her foot. A few moments work got his pants halfway down his thighs and he had managed to kick off one boot in the tight space. Her thong had somehow gotten stuck around his wrist in the frenzy. The lace looked odd against his skin. She imagined a leather cuff would be more suited to him.

"I know I'm irresistible, sweetheart, but we have plenty of time," he soothed. He plucked at her nipple, hard. The bite of pain was delicious, making her lightheaded and needy. He checked her expression and liked what he saw. "Can you take more," he asked.

The pain nearly sent her back into subspace, that place in her mind where only sensation existed. White noise thundered in her ears. In response she wrapped her hand around his neck and yanked him down to her. She stroked the seam of his lips with her tongue and delved inside when he parted his lips. "I can take whatever you can dish out," she told him. While his lust- haze mind was working through her words she plunged her hand down the front of his boxers. The tips of her fingers slid through pre-cum to wrap around his length. He felt even better bare in her hand than through his layers of clothing. She stroked, feeling velvet skin encasing a core of steel. "Would you like to feel my lips on your cock," she asked.

He moaned, wordless, when she tightened her grip on the upstroke and twisted on the head. He managed to grit out, “You don't play fair,” against her skin. "Fucking cock sucking lips," he grumbled.

"I don't have a gag reflex," she added.

"Oh god." Yep, he was gone. The rest of him, however, seemed to be able to keep up. He retreated to sitting on the bench seat while he peeled his clothes from his legs. Now nothing was conceal him and she saw miles of freckled flesh for her to play with.

She maneuvered him so that his back was against the door. He grinned down at her and put one leg up on the seat, framing himself. She admired the view, thanking her luck that he wasn't bashful. One mistake most women make is that they assume men have only on erogenous zone. Wrong. Depending on the man, his entire body could be a roadmap of erotic delights. She skimmed a fingernail along the inner edge of his foot at the arch, starting at the bottom. He hissed and his toes curled, but his face said he enjoyed it. She tried it again, only this time she ended at his achilles. She licked there, nipping at the tendon. "You have to tell me when it feels good, Dean," she admonished. She was good, but she wasn't a mind reader despite her uncle's best efforts. She worked her way up his body slowly, discovering what made him squirm, and in one case what made him shout in surprise and then moan when she did it again.

Dean turned out to be rather mouthy. An endless string of cursing, dirty promises, and other nonsensical phrases fell from his tongue in that whiskey voice of his. The lines of his body were tense, muscles jumping and twitching as she explored. He felt ready to pounce and his face had acquired that look. You know, the one a man gives you when he is sure of a woman. That masculine satisfaction and heated expectation looked even better in green, no stunning emerald. Sexy seemed too tame a word for him. He reached out and skimmed his touched along the line of her jaw, not moving or directing.

The tender skin on his inner thigh seemed to be just as much as a turn on as it was for her. She slide her hands up the pale flesh, kneading the muscles beneath her touch. She smirked when the route led her to the tops of his thighs and completely avoided his groin. His hips lifted into the air, wordlessly pleading with her. Her tongue followed, tracing a wet line along the small blonde hairs till she reached thicker curly hair. To make it even worse, she blew lightly on his balls as she passed. He actually whined soft in his throat. She reached up and pressed his erection into his belly while her mouth went lower. "How about this," she asked into the wrinkled skin of his scrotum.

Her words just barely managed to break through. His hips were moving in short little jerks, up and down, and he couldn't still them even though he was trying. She could see the effort it took in the trembling muscles of his thighs and calves. "Lick me, suck me, do something. Anything," he groaned in that wrecked whiskey gravel voice of his. Her lips separated one ball from the other and began rolling it with gentle pressure, “Fuck.” That one had sounded like pure grit. Her tongue flicked along the skin, tasting salt and musk. His eyes were wide open, his mouth parted. A bead of sweat traveled from his clavicle to the ridges of his abdominals. She lifted and licked it off. The back of his head hit the glass.

While he was distracted she closed her mouth over the head of his penis and then took him down to the root in one swift movement. Her hands closed over his hips as he bucked upward with a shout. Her throat closed reflexively over the intrusion, but true to her word she had no trouble keeping him there. "Ah ah ah," he panted. "Fuck," he breathed. His chest was heaving. Sweat was blooming all over his skin and he was again uttering a constant string of swear words interspersed with dirty descriptions of exactly what he wanted to do with her. She took note of a few particularly inventive ones and filed them away for later.

She slid up until just the head rested on her tongue, her hand following to keep the shaft contained. She lathed the glans almost roughly which brought on another spate of cursing. Then she bobbed up and down, sucking hard on the upstroke and pressing along the underside with her tongue. His balls drew up against his body and she could feel him get even harder. He was almost keening above her. She circled her fingers around the base of him and squeezed hard, bringing a hiss of pain from those gorgeous lips. "No cumming yet. I don't want to stop," she said before she descended on him again. She bobbed up and down a couple times before releasing him entirely, batting his hands away when he would have jacked himself.

"What the fuck," he asked with a little heat in his voice. "If you don't get with it I'm going to throw you down in the back of this car and fuck you through the upholstery," he stated. His green eyes were sparking with the beginnings of anger. Her pussy, already wet, weeped at the sound, the moisture dripping onto her inner thighs.

She considered and decided he was a man of action. Making him sit there wasn't going to be easy. She could work with that. She responded by putting one of his hands on her breast. She smiled, lips shiny and red, when his fingers pinched and pulled at the nipple. Then she nudged him into a more flat out position. He responded well when she told him to put his foot here and his ass there and lay back that way. With something to play with he seemed almost content. The throbbing dick between his legs, though, told her how impatient he was going to get any moment. One thing she truly enjoyed was giving head. Oral was half the fun of sex and she did it well. It mean that she couldn't resist swallowing him down a couple more times despite how close he was to finishing. She tugged on his balls, cataloguing the fact that he responded well to having them squeezed to the point of a little pain. What he didn't notice was her other hand snaking under the seat and pulling out a condom. She had a whole box under there.

She pulled off of him and asked, "Do you like anal?"

His pupils were blown and his face even more flushed than before. His gaze had gone a bit glassy, narrowed down to pure sensation. "Hmm," was all he managed.

She flicked his inner thigh lightly to get his attention. "Dean, do you like your ass played with," she asked again.

He disengaged her hand from its tight grip around his dick and sucked two fingers into his mouth. "Stick those in me and I'll blow like Mount Vesuvius," he purred. That damned cocky grin was back. He widened his legs to give her access and she reached down, finding the tight pucker. She tapped, not pressing, while she opened the condom wrapper. Then she did something that was bound to keep his attention. Simultaneously she pulled down on his balls hard, pushed in one finger up to the second knuckle, and rolled the condom down his erection with her mouth. He let out a guttural yell when her throat convulsed around his condom covered cock, his abdominals jumping. Her hand on his balls kept him from cumming. Tears shimmered in his eyes, but he showed no other outward sign that she had hurt him. Orgasm denial can hurt like a bitch sometimes.

"Go ahead, call me a bitch," she purred. "You'll be thanking me in a few moments."

He chuckled and grabbed at her hips as she crawled over his sprawled body, the long length of him nearly taking up the entire back of the car. "Does that mean I can fuck you now or are you going to continue being a heartless bitch," he asked with a grin. His hips lifted, letting her know which option he would choose.

"Stay with me for a few more minutes and you won't regret it," she answered. She was currently straddling one thick thigh. He groaned when her wet pussy pressed against his flesh as she rubbed her clit against the hairs there. She reached down and stroked his perineum, "Yes or no?" She reached lower and pushed her finger back into his tight heat.

He bucked up, taking he in further. His answer was a yelled, "Shit, hell yes." He whined when she pulled out and stopped whining when she straddled his hips. His hands started roaming. He stroked here, pinched there. He scraped fingernails along sensitive skin, drawing red lines across her pale flesh. "Gonna let me fuck you now," he asked almost half-heartedly. His mouth fastened on her breast and he sucked and nibbled till the nipple was stretched and rosy. Then he worked on the other one.

She lowered until his cock was resting lengthwise between her labia. He sucked in a breath but his mouth continued exploring the skin he could reach. She humped him then, moving up and down along his length, rubbing her engorged clit against his hard erection. "Now here is where a little yoga comes in handy," she said almost conversationally as she reached back. Her fingers, still slick with spit, circled the rosette between his cheeks. Her hips twisted, grinding her clit onto that sensitive spot on the underside of his cock through the condom. "Cause I can do this." She braced herself on his knee, her back bowed. Her chest was forced outward, her breasts displayed for him and her nipples hard and aching from his touch. She moved her hips in little circles till the spongey head pressed in between her folds. She played with the tip of him, moving so that just the mushroom head thrust in and out of her body. She finally pushed two fingers into the heat of his body as she caught the head of his dick in her folds one more time and slid him inside of her. Her head fell back on her shoulders in a long, low moan. He jerked inside of her. She was so tight, so deliciously tight and he felt so big, so wonderfully wide and long. She stopped moving then, pressed groin to groin, to catch her breath. Or maybe it was for Dean to catch his.

She heard, "jesus christ," gritted out between luscious male lips. She smiled as she thought that she really wanted to convince him to go down on her at least one more time before the night was over.

She set up a new rhythm. She moved her hips in waves, nearly pulling him all the way out and then shoving him back inside of her all the way to the hilt. She twisted at the end of every thrust, grinding her clit against his groin. She tortured him for a few more minutes, feeling the burn of another orgasm gathering in her groin. Lightning was beginning to spark up her spine again. It wouldn't be long. His mouth was currently not helping matters, worrying away at a bite he had made on the upper curve of her breast. There would be one hell of a bruise there tomorrow, but tonight it was all pleasure. The pain blended so nicely with everything else she was feeling, making it all sharper somehow. Subspace was beginning to creep in on her and she knew she wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. She pumped her fingers in and out of him a couple times before withdrawing them. She curled over, nuzzled at the soft skin behind one of his ears and said, "I want you to fuck me hard." She rose and fell on him in little pulses that barely created any movement at all.

One moment she was on top and the next thing she knew she was on her back with her legs wrapped high around his torso. He grabbed her hand and yanked it back behind him. "Fuck me with your fingers while I fuck you," he growled. He didn't wait for her to comply, but his thrusts became even more punishing once she did. This was going to hurt so good in the morning.

"Make me feel it," she purred as she twisted her fingers, bent them into a crook and pressed into that walnut gland inside of him.

Her words shattered what little self-control he had left. Hard and fast, he repeated the movement desperately a dozen times before he shuddered and emptied himself into the condom, holding his groin flush with hers. His other hand moved down between her legs, found her engorged clit and began rubbing. His thumb moved from side to side over the little nub, keeping up a good pressure.

A few good strokes and she said breathlessly, “Oh god, I'm going to come. I'm . . . going to . . . cum.”

He rubbed faster, harder. He growled out a command she was helpless to deny, “Cum.”

She did, exploding around him, “Dean!” Her vaginal muscles gripped him and released, gripped him and released, milking him.

He growled, “fuck,” as waves of pleasure washed over him and pulled him in, dragging a second orgasm from his balls. Her climax lasted for a full minute longer, her muscles contracting and releasing as she shuddered helplessly, dragging him along for the ride. He shuddered with each wave, still so hard it was painful. He barely noticed that his heart was pounding. The thing was crashing against the wall of his chest like it wanted out. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed on top of her.

Later, Rhea bit her lip as looked down at him. She almost regretted drugging him. He was nothing but solid muscle. Crawling out from underneath him had been an effort. Yet, he looked so adorable, almost innocent in sleep. His body still bore the proof of their encounter. His dirty blonde hair was sticking out every which way. His long eyelashes fluttered on his freckled cheeks with each slow breath. His lips were bruised and swollen from her attentions. His skin even bore the marks from her nails and teeth. In short, he looked well and thoroughly fucked out. He was bound to wake up any minute, though. She hadn't missed the signs. If he wasn't a cop he was definitely military of some sort and the compound would wear off quickly. Despite the languid remnants of the pleasure he had brought her, she needed to get moving. She put on her clothing, downed a vial of something that tasted especially vile, and stretched out in the passenger seat. Her fingers brushed his skin gently and she spoke the words. As the magic washed over them both she hoped he would leave her alive in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you wikihow for the jumpstart on dirty talk and Thesaurus.com for reminding me that I have a rather expansive vocabulary that I should actually use.
> 
> Request: I am contemplating adding a chapter of Dean!Whumpage. Thoughts?


	4. Dean Discovers the Meaning of Screwed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all. Poor Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised plot, didn't I? My muse, however, took a vacation. Thus, this chapter is not only shorter than I intended but it also doesn't have half the plot development I was going for.

_The first thing he noticed was the feel of buttery leather beneath him. It was soft and supple and he was swimming up from the warm depths of a nice dream. He kept his eyes squeezed shut as he stretched, unwilling to give up the night. His foot found a steering wheel and his hands latched onto a door handle. He winced when he realized he was stretched lengthwise over a hard and pointy center console. His eyes flew open and the stabbing pain of sunlight hitting hungover retinas was enough to make him slam them shut again. That was not the shape of Baby's door handle. He searched his memory and last night came back to him in a rush._

_There had been this seriously hot chic. He smiled lazily as he remembered how much of a tiger in the sack she had turned out to be. He had expected a quick screw against the wall out back. What he had gotten was almost straight out of one of his favorite fantasies. She had been curvy and soft in all the right places with just enough spunk to make things interesting. He let himself revel in the replay while he waited for the pounding in his head to subside. He figured that she would kick him out of the car pretty soon now that he was awake. He hadn't missed the fond caress she had given the hood before following him into the back seat. She didn't show, though._

_Eventually he decided he needed to open his eyes and figure out where the hell the girl went. There was no way he would leave a cherry ride such as this with a stranger sitting in the passenger seat if it was his. Hell, if he couldn't see Baby from the motel window he had been known to panic. Just a little. He considered that something might have happened to her, but the men in the bar had been plain vanilla human. Not a monster in sight and no suspicious deaths in the area for some time. He would know. Out of boredom he had checked all the towns along this road a couple days back._

_He made a humming sound, stretched to work the kinks out of his muscles, and froze. He hummed again. His eyes snapped open. He didn't even wince this time. He sat up quickly, a move that would have slammed his head on the ceiling on any other day. Then he looked down. He rubbed at his eyes and looked again. He lifted first one leg and then the other. Nope, he was not seeing through someone else's eyes. He really was wearing little jean cutoff shorts. He reached for the door and did a double take. Slender fingers tipped in blue nail polish came back into view. He turned the hand over, and over, and over. Yep, that was attached to him as well._

_Dean exploded out of the car, barely noticing the effect of hot black top on bare feet at temperatures high enough to boil an egg on the hood. He slammed the car door. Cursed. Opened the door and dove inside. On the floor in the back was a set of keys with a blue plastic dolphin keychain. He cursed again._

_A catcall pierced the air, "Hey gorgeous." The man leered at him suggestively and just laughed when Dean flipped him off. "Baby, raise your standards," he replied. He grabbed at his crotch, "I promise I'm much bigger than that."_

_That was when his current situation actually sank in. Dean ignored the asshole and found a mirror, the passenger side mirror of the girl's lime green 1973 Dodge Charger. He got a glimpse of pale brown eyes, lightly tanned skin, and long brown hair. His hands immediately dropped to squeeze the very perky breasts on his chest...umm, her chest. His exclamation of, "Son of a bitch," came out in a rather undignified feminine squeak rather than the deep growl he had been going for. "I fucking hate witches."_

Rhea opened green eyes. Her uncle had warned her about the visions, about the connection she would be unable to break between her mind and her body. He hadn't warned her that they would take over without warning and leave so much pain in their wake. At least this way she could keep tabs on him. She scrunched up her forehead in a grimace and scratched the day old stubble. Shit was itchy, just one of many complaints she could list off. She had intended to get very far away from herself. The people tracking her might be tracking her soul, but the men on the ground had pictures of a petite brunette in a lime muscle car, not a green eyed man in a black Impala. She soared a moment to hope they didn't catch on and grab Dean in her body. That would screw everything all to hell. The engine's purr faltered, interrupted by an undignified sputter that gained her attention. She'd only had a few hours with the sleek black beast, but a distinct personality had already begun to emerge. The Impala wasn't too fond of her. In fact, she was pretty sure the machine was plotting her death. She lovingly patted the dashboard, "Don't worry, sweetie, you'll get back to your daddy soon." Her voice was a bit higher than the whiskey growl she remembered from last night. She made a mental note to work on that.

She waited until the fog between her ears had cleared, the headache muted to a dull roar at her temples....his temples. She brought her new fingers up to her new temples and rubbed lightly, managing to stab herself in the ear before getting it right. Just thinking about this was confusing. She waited until the two steering wheels in her hands became one and her pupils slowly constricted to something smaller than dinner plates. All of a sudden, Rhea was no longer looking forward to the hours ahead. Not if she had more of those mind-splitting, hammer between the eyes migraines in the future. Her mouth was dry and tasted like three day old road kill. What she really needed was painkillers and a bottle of water. She fumbled with the latch on the glove box, hoping to find something to ease the pain. She cursed when she nearly jammed one finger on the catch, and finally the door flopped open. She gave a crow of triumph at a set of aviator sunglasses and sighed in relief when they fit perfectly. The burning glare of that great ball of gas in the sky settled down to a level of brilliance she could handle. She began to wonder exactly how much of her pain was due to the visions and how much was her own damned fault. She had drugged Dean knowing his alcohol intake had not been small. She had even been counting on it.

An additional visual search revealed no little bottle of relief and she moved to close the glove box with a disappointed huff. What kind of a man doesn't keep ibuprofen on hand? She stilled when her aim once again was further off than she liked and her hand plunged into the space rather than flipping the door closed. Her fingers brushed a large metal object and reflexively closed over it. By muscle memory alone her hand slipped around the form, fitting perfectly into the smooth grooves of the grip of a pistol, finger on the trigger. She held her breath. A gun. There was a gun in the glove box. She caught a glimpse of white as she shoved it deep beneath the papers and slammed the box closed. Nope, she was not going to think about it. There was no gun with a shiny pearl handle in the glove box. Not for the first time, exactly what the hell she had been thinking began to play on repeat. She was so screwed.

Needing a distraction, she fidgeted with the rearview mirror and risked a glance. Traffic was roaring by mere inches from the gleaming black paint job. She searched each vehicle. There had been a blue van dogging her heels for the last couple hundred miles. Before that there had been a crappy tan jeep. Before she had met Dean. The side effects of her little stunt, however, had forced her to the side of the road and she had no idea exactly how long she had been idling here. The radio clock was no help. There was no way the sun could be that high in the sky at six o'clock at night. She pinched the bridge of her nose, silently rejoicing when she didn't stab out her eyes. She had waited until it was safe to drive again, but she feared she had waited too long. The plan wasn't to lose them. She checked for a gap in oncoming traffic and pulled out with a spray of gravel and the roar of the muscle car's 327. Her foot pressed the pedal hard to the floor. The Impala leapt beneath her and she smiled as the speedometer crept upward. She didn't want to lose them but that didn't mean she was going to make it easy for the bastards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't catch it, this is a bodyswap fic. Comments?


	5. Plan B?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea runs into a bit of a snag.
> 
> WARNING: Torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a free several days due to my exam on Thursday and a complete lack of lectures until Tuesday. I decided to spend my time writing a chapter while sitting on the beach sipping rum punches. Many rum punches. Enough rum punches that I was chugging coconut water the next day and hoping the hangover would have mercy. Enjoy the fruits of my pain.
> 
> So, this was Dean!Whumpage and yet not Dean!Whumpage. *giggle*
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not have a beta.

She was hyperventilating. She knew it and she couldn't stop it. There was no sane reason to have this much firepower in a trunk with a false bottom. She forced her breathing to slow and deepen. She was seeing spots, her vision narrowing. She was going to pass out any moment now. In a hidden compartment in the trunk of the Impala she was looking at enough firepower to take down an entire police precinct. She reached out and touched the barrel of a sawed-off and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt cool, solid metal. They were all real. Her knees buckled and only a death grip on the Impala kept her upright. This latest debacle of hers was going just peachy. Planning more than a few steps ahead had never been her forte, but this was just ridiculous. She slammed the trunk closed and leaned back against the car, hands on her knees for support. All she could think was, _Who the hell is this guy?_ She had stolen the body of a mass murderer. It was the only explanation. The gun in the glove box, the arsenal hidden in the trunk. This was not going to end well. She really needed to think up a Plan B, and fast.

Muttering to herself she dragged the duffel she had found in the trunk to the motel room she had gotten. She had been planning to stay the night, get a little needed rest. Considering the recent revelation, however, she was going to clean up and move on. Now there were two things she was running from and she wasn't sure which one was worse. She flicked on the lights and got to it. The motel bathroom was tiny and dingy, but serviceable. She dug through the green duffel and found clothing along with more guns, a flask of plain water, about six knives, and what looked like an old personal journal. She tried her best to ignore the voice screaming in her head. She knew how badly things were going. She didn't need her subconscious to get in on the action too. Getting cleaned up was a simple ten minutes in the shower with the tiny bar of soap and a swipe of what she hoped was a clean towel. She had been pleased to find a serviceable toothbrush and toothpaste. There was even a little bottle of aftershave. She didn't bother shaving, though. This pretty face was more likely to end up sliced to hell rather than clean shaven. She'd had enough trouble figuring out the mechanics of taking a piss. Barely any time had passed when she packed it all up and went back to the car. Not wanting to deal with the trunk, she threw the duffel into the backseat and was too distracted to notice the figures behind her before they had knocked her out and stuffed her unconscious body into the waiting blue van.

_Dean kicked the motel door closed with relief and threw his purchases on the puke green bed spread. The last few hours had been tricky. The new jean pants should help with his new horny asshole problem, though. He stripped the sweat-soaked material and took a good look at his left leg. A tattoo extended from just above the iliac crest to halfway down the thigh. He ran fingertips along the colored skin, tracing the outline of a songbird and the flowered branch of a tree he couldn't name. It was beautiful and he briefly wondered what meaning it held for Rhea, if that was even her real name. He had learned a lot in the short span of a day. The car had probably been stolen but never reported. The cell phone had been purchased last week at a gas station in Iowa. There were exactly two pairs of shorts and three shirts in the backpack he had found in the trunk along with one bottle of expensive lotion and a laptop that hadn't even been unboxed yet. He eyed the three underwire bras like they were going to grow teeth and bite him. The only frivolous item he had found was the simple silver ring that had been on his thumb when he had woken up that morning. She was on the run._

_Dean stood and stretched, feeling muscles unwind and joints pop. He had gotten used to this new body and its limitations. Being five foot three had been the hardest part. The Charger hadn't been designed for a person of his new height and the cushion he had originally thrown in the back had been retrieved and put back into place. He had even become thankful of the small blocks that had been fixed to the pedals. If Sam ever heard about this he would never live it down._

_His hands clenched into fists at that thought. Words can not describe how pissed he had been when he had discovered that both his body and his Baby had disappeared. There hadn't even been a hex bag to explain his change in circumstances and calling people for help had been out of the question. One word in his brand new soprano would have cut off any chances. Instead, he had been limited to texting from a number no one recognized. It had been slow going. This afternoon Dean had managed to catch a break. One of his credit cards had been used to buy liquor about two hundred miles northeast. He had been following the trail ever since. He just hoped she had been the one stupid enough to do it. And if she had put one scratch on his Baby..._

Her head was killing her, again. That was the first thing she noticed. The second was that she couldn't move. At first she assumed that she was paralyzed somehow. That lasted only as long as it took for her to feel the ropes rubbing against her skin. She opened her eyes, looked down, and saw plaid. She groaned, the sound lower than she was used to. She was still in Dean. She was still Dean and she had somehow gotten tied to a chair. The only thing she could think was, _Fuck my life._

Rhea only had a few moments to wallow in self-pity, though. A pair stood up from their card game in the corner and approached. Four sets of sneakers turned into two as she blinked. Two assholes in khaki and cardigans flashed a matching pair of candy coated smiles. Two female assholes. Wait, can an asshole be female? Something was not right. She blinked again to be certain. Yep, still female. They looked entirely too pleased with themselves. She gently tested the give of the knots holding her wrists to the arms of the chair and found them solid.

The one on the right made a tsking noise while the other turned to a table nearby. She put one manicured finger beneath Rhea's chin and forced her to look up. Ice blue eyes narrowed and lips slathered in thick red lipstick pursed. "He looks familiar," she said. The woman's face was lost in thought and the grip slackened enough that Rhea managed to get her chin free, taking small victories when she could.

Rhea considered saying something. She considered speaking up, but she had this not quite coherent act going and she really wanted to know what the hell was going on before they realized she had was understanding every word they were saying. She settled her weight into the rope around her chest, making sure her shoulders were soft. She even hooded her eyes and let her chin droop down when she was released.

"Bronze," the other one said with an uptilt in tone at the end, an obvious question.

Out of the corner of her eye Rhea saw the closer one give a single sharp nod. "Bronze," she confirmed. Then she gave Rhea's forearm a hard pinch, "Wake up, sleeping beauty." Rhea suppressed the urge to jerk away, knowing she wouldn't get anywhere in the first place, and settled deeper into the act. A sharp crack preceded the feeling of being slapped, hard on the face. She rocked with it. The air moved and she suppressed her curiosity, "Bring the prod first."

A second pair of shoes came into view and electricity crackled along Rhea's entire borrowed body. Every muscle went instantly rigid. Her head snapped back, nearly cracking her neck. Her eyes opened wide and her fingers clenched hard on the wood they had been curled over. When it was over she was panting, her lungs screaming for air. She felt her heart pounding and just barely managed to slow her pulse before it fractured her sternum. The look she gave them had started out lined in pain and had morphed into a flash of pure hatred before settling into as blank a canvas as she could make it. Her eyes surveyed the dirty room and found nothing that could clue her in to where they had taken her.

"I believe he is awake," one said. One eyelid was peeled up, "I want the eyes. Such a pretty shade of green."

"Hmm. I think you should hit him again. Just in case," the other mused.

Rhea decided to call uncle. "I'm up," her voice was gravel, rough and deep, and she prided herself on the quality. At least she got that part down. She coughed, playing up how hurt she was. "Who did I piss off this time," she asked with a smile, hoping they'd go all evil-monologue. She needed a clue here. These two didn't look anything like the men that had been hunting her.

She wasn't so lucky. Next thing she knew there was a bronze spike sticking into her stomach roughly where her liver should be. She let out a bellow of pain but that didn't stop the bitch from twisting it into position. Her vision greyed out and the spike stopped moving long enough for another slap to be delivered to her face. "We need you conscious," the woman explained. No shit. Rhea was not even slightly tempted to cooperate. Right that moment, consciousness had lost its lustre. The woman made a sound not unlike a huff and removed the spike in a single smooth pull. Rhea managed to sneak a peak downward. Blood leaked from the wound in a slow but steady stream. She was pretty sure with time that it would be enough to kill Dean. She had no clue what would happen to either of them after that. "It's not there," the one holding the bloody spike announced. Rhea could have been a straw target for all the consideration she was given. Apparently they didn't need her to talk.

Her eyes slid closed for barely a moment before they snap open in panic. "Try another spot," she heard. No. Oh no. Not again. She was about to say something, anything, before it happened again. She felt a pinch and then indescribable pain radiated from where she imagined a kidney might be found. The spike wiggled around and she threw her weight against the ropes in a desperate attempt to get away. It just drove the weapon deeper.

This time she managed to get out, "Ahhh...hell...the fuck...you want." It was not exactly full sentences, but she got their attention. The spike was removed and she felt fire, the sensation of a red hot poker, settle on the wounds. Then the pain cleared and fingers brushed the lingering blood away from flawless skin. Someone else would see the positive side of things. They didn't want her dead yet. Rhea, however, only knew that they just might be able to carve into her for the next century without allowing her to die. "I'm pretty sure all you'll find in there is my intestines," she said with a sneer.

Painted fingernails dug crescent marks into the skin of her jaw. "Where is it," the blond one demanded.

"Where is what," she snapped. She couldn't think of a single thing other than her Charger that she had of value, not remembering that she wasn't exactly herself at the moment.

She was ignored. Instead the blonde one held out her hand. "Ivory," she ordered.

Rhea didn't even manage to get out a yell. A long needle of ivory was plunged into her flesh and left there. The woman stepped back for a moment and then returned with four more, which she quickly found sunk deep. Rhea finally screamed, the high-pitched feminine sound tearing through her male throat like a ball of razors. It got worse when they start tapping on the spikes at random intervals like they were composing a fucking sonata. Each tap elicited yet another sound from her. Before she could escape to unconsciousness, though, they stopped. She almost missed the distraction the vibrations had provided. She was now cold and shivering in the heat of the room. Shock was setting in.

"It's not here," one repeats.

"It has to be here," the other one insists.

"What are you looking for," Rhea managed to croak out. Her voice was soft, but they heard her. Maybe this time she'd get some answers. Hoping the respite would last she picked at her bindings, managing to earn a small amount of slack for her efforts.

As one they turned to her, faces hard and angry. "You have the scent of the drow on you," the blonde one said in an acid tone as if Rhea should suddenly get a clue.

The spikes still inside of her shifted with every breath. "Is that a band," she asked sarcastically. A groan of pain and relief escaped her lips when the spikes were abruptly removed and the fire erased her wounds. This time she managed to notice that actual flames had licked over the wounds before disappearing. One hand was almost free.

Rhea lost time and had collapsed forward onto the ropes again. She had to be shoved upright into the chair back. She blinked into the bright lighting as her head snapped back with the force of the push. It took her a second to get her bearings again. It had occurred to her that these two were a bit off their rocker and just wanted to stick pins in her all day for no apparent reason. Maybe she could kick it today and miss out on the special treatment she'd get from her mother's creditors. 

A shadow obscured her vision almost immediately and she finally got a good look at the second one, a shorter brunette with a harsh face. "Where is it," the brunette hissed.

"You know the definition of insanity," Rhea asked.

The woman tilted to her head to the side. "All you need to do is reveal to me what I want to know," she mused.

She didn't give Rhea a chance to answer, like the question wasn't even for her. The woman's entire hand disappeared into the toned abdominals below Rhea's borrowed chest. There was pressure and pain, and she began to feel quite a bit lighter. Her heart slowed. The woman dug around, grabbing at loops of intestine with a look of boredom on her face. Rhea barely managed not to throw up all over herself. The woman frowned and ran her nails along the underside of the membrane making up the surface of the diaphragm, eliciting a series of powerful hiccups. Rhea's eyes went wide as her entire upper body shook with the force. This just sucked.

The woman gave a small snort and removed her hand with a wet sucking sound. By the time the spasms stopped the healing had already occurred. She could feel the lingering twinges in the freshly knitted flesh. The woman roughly pushed Rhea's head to the side and buried her nose into the hair behind her ear. She sniffed loudly and then straightened, her left hand dripping red with a glove of blood up to the elbow. "He doesn't have it," she announced, again. Rhea lost consciousness, sliding into the dark with a sigh.

_He was standing in a gas station bathroom looking at a brown eyed brunette in the sparkly clean mirror. He turned the face side to side and liked what he saw. That wasn't new. The problem, though, was located a bit further down. Normally the sight of erect nipples in a thin cotton t-shirt would make his day. Normally, however, those pretty perky nipples and bouncing breasts would not be attached to his own chest. He had woken up this morning without a bra and had thought nothing of it. He had even liked the prospect of feeling them up whenever he felt like it. Over the course of the day, however, he had changed his mind. The damned things had hung uncomfortably, pulling on muscles he was unaccustomed to feeling. He was currently wishing Rhea wasn't so amply endowed. He was uncomfortable enough that the pink lace contraption in his hand had actually started to look friendly. Problem was all of his experience lay in taking it off. He looked at the straps and hooks. It couldn't be that hard in reverse._

_He quickly stripped down and couldn't resist pinching one nipple while they were out in the open. He smiled when he realized just how good that had felt. He turned left and right in the mirror. He had to do a little experimenting later. Dean had never considered himself a breast man, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a fine pair. A knock on the locked bathroom door pulled his attention back on task. Right. He had to somehow get this bra on. He held it up, pressed his greasts into the formed foam cups and slipped one arm through the straps. A good ten minutes later he had wrestled into it. He was sweating from the exertion. That had not been easy. The hardest part had been fastening the clasp in back. He was convinced arms were not meant to bend that way. Was there some rule that said the damned thing couldn't be anywhere else?_

_His phone chirped indicating a new text message. He adjusted the underwire one last time and left._

She came back to the sound of the two of them arguing. The rope around her right wrist was loose, loose enough to slip.

"But, he is perfect."

"I said no."

"You can't stop me, sister."

"We don't have the time."

"Her scent is all over him. Hers and the drow. He has seen her. He has touched her."

There was a disgusted sigh, "The earth calls, sister."

That seemed to be code for something. The brunette picked up a melon baller, "You pack."

The blonde rolled her eyes in fond exasperation. "Fine, you can pick one thing only. Just put it on ice this time," she replied.

Rhea had already worked one hand free from the ropes and hastily slapped it back into place. A melon baller has never looked more menacing and she knew excatly what the brunette was going to do with it. She let the woman get close. She let the metal touch her cheek. She even let her head get pressed backward, nearly bent to the point of breaking. She let the woman's unprotected middle get right up on her hand because Rhea had seen something hidden in the waistband of her pants. Something that glinted in the light and had a sharp edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was about ready to take off my bra today and slingshot it into the sea. There was not a single comfortable position or adjustment I could do. I figured, Dean might be having the same problem.
> 
> About the blocks and the cushion in the Charger: As a 5'3" person I had to use both in order to drive a 2005 Dodge Ram 1500. Yep, I sat on a piece of foam with the seat pulled all the way forward and small wooden block duct taped to the gas pedal. Dodge, you need to make your vehicles for people below six feet too.
> 
> Next Chapter: Dean and Rhea meet back up.


	6. Karma Meet Rhea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is not Rhea's day, or year.  
> Or, that time Dean manages to track her down and he isn't happy.
> 
> WARNING: graphic violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the very small size of this chapter. I have had three solid weeks of 7-8 hours of lecture per day 5 days a week. Even my sleep is suffering. That poses bad news for Chapter 7. I am in the final stretch for this semester and will be unable to update this fic for the next month. My last exam is on the 22nd of April. After that time, I should be able to review and expand on Chapter 7, happily.

Rhea had to trust that her hand knew where to go. The melon baller drew nearer. The brunette pulled down on her cheek to reveal the conjunctiva of the lower lid, moving the sharp metal tool into place. It was now or never. She wasn't going to get a better opportunity. Rhea held her breath, made a grab for the blade, and then buried it into the woman's stomach. She didn't stop there. She kept stabbing until she staggered out of reach, the melon baller dropping noisily to the ground. The woman had an almost comical look of disbelief on her face, her mouth wide open and silent. Rhea's hand was covered in slick red blood as she sliced at the bindings holding her. She cursed when the liquid caused her grip to slip periodically. It was slow going, but she had two hands and one leg free when the blonde came into the room.

"Get a move on, Sister," she chided. She was carrying a red lunchbox in one hand and a wicked looking sword in the other.

Rhea willed her not to look up as she furiously worked on the last bit of rope holding her down. The other woman was crumpled on the floor, seemingly lifeless. The blood pool around her was too small and not getting any bigger. She couldn't have lost more than a pint or two. She could get up any second. Rhea clamped her lips together and worked harder. The blonde one was speaking again. She hadn't caught the words, but it had sounded like a question. The woman had her back to the room and was piling the cutlery into a duffle bag, chattering away. The body on the floor twitched and groaned. Rhea couldn't help the growled, "thwacking cunt," that left her lips as the last strand refused to part. She was cursed. She just knew it.

"Sister, did you hear a word I just said," she said louder in this chiding and very annoyingly motherly tone.

Rhea's fingers fumbling on the hilt of the blade and it went spinning. She wanted to blame the blood slicking the hilt, but it would have been a lie. Nope, she could pin that on her neverending capacity to fuck shit up. She had been too busy enjoying her perceived freedom to learn Dean's body properly. His impressively accurate proprioception was intact, but when she wasn't paying attention she would assume the fingers were about an inch and a half shorter and completely miss the mark. The knife made a clattering sound on the floor and she winced as she frantically yanked at the last bits of rope holding her down. This was not going to feel good.

The body on the ground gave an even bigger twitch followed by a hiss of pain as the knife collide with an outstretched arm. That coupled with the echoing collision of steel to solid ground seemed to be Rhea's undoing. The blonde turned around with is amused looked on her face, obviously expecting nothing out of the ordinary. It was lucky, then, that the weapon that heppened to be in her hand at the time turned out to be a weird shaped hammer of some sort. "Blubber on your," she began before she got a good look at the scene near the center of the room. She took one fleeting look at the pool of blood beneath her crumpled sister's form before she went ballistic.

Rhea had no idea what the woman was shouting. Her strange gutteral words were totally rocking the pissed off vibe, though. Rhea yanked once, twice and the third time was the charm. She threw herself to the floor as the sharp end of the hammer buried itself in the seat of the chair she had been tied to. She flipped through her mental checklist of available moves. When she had been twelve years old and set on going with Trevor to the movies her overprotective father had enrolled her in a self- defense class for girls. She had spent two weeks learning various ways to break a hold, scream fire really loud, and run like the hounds of hell were on her ass. Her male cousins had also done their best to toughen her up as a child, treating her no different than each other. None of that provided any clue as to what would be a logical next step. Immediate death had never been a risk before. Sgt MartIn Riggs, however, had provided a few helpful tips. She rolled desperately, banging knees and elbows on the hard floor and using each strike to propel her further, faster. The pain was distant as adrenaline surged through her and she finally felt the kick that testosterone lent to pure fury. She knew there would be bruising and she couldn't care less. All she could see was red.

It wasn't long before she collided with the wall, her six foot one body sprawled against the vertical surface before rebounding to land solidly face down. She fumbled to get her limbs beneath her, powerful muscles surging. She was on her knees, one foot flat on the ground and about to launch into a run when the sound of a gunshot left her deaf. Ears ringing. Heart pounding. She looked down expecting to find freshly flowing blood, but nothing new seemed to appear amid the patchwork of red. She stared dumbly at the shirt, almost willing her fear into existence. It couldn't have taken more than a second or two to get her logic circuits working again. A feminine pair of work boots stomped into view. She blinked and looked up into flinty brown eyes and an expression of pure hatred that looked pretty good on her own face.

She smiled and said, "Hey, Dean," in that whiskey rough voice of his.

Dean's scowl only got more thunderous, looking rather adorable. "You better not have hurt Baby," he replied in a soprano that was an octave higher than it should be, having gone nearly shrill in rage. She had a moment to think _huh_ before the butt of a pistol tried to smash a hole in her forehead. She threw herself backward and to the ground, raising one forearm in defense before it connected. Silly Rhea. Just because she was wearing Dean's face didn't mean he would hesitate to bash it in.

What ensued could only be described as chaos. Dean had somehow found the time to figure out how to fight in Rhea's petite frame, tits and all. Rhea had not managed to do the same. Dean's six foot muscle-bound body, however, had several advantages she didn't need a blackbelt to use. Dean was weaker but quick and agile, his blows connecting in just the right spots. Rhea was stronger but slower and what training she had would probably be considered suitable for beginner's classs taught to ten year olds. She spent most of her time just trying to get out of Dean's range. When it was all over they were both sporting broken noses and an array of cuts and bruises in some unusual places. Rhea had been desperately clutching her balls and just about screaming in agony before Dean had put her out of his misery with a single blow to the temple.

Lights out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an effort to avoid repeating the same expletives over and over I used the following website and had a ball.
> 
> http://foulomatic.hnldesign.nl


	7. Now What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Dean has Rhea, he needs to figure out what to do with her.
> 
> WARNING: nonsexual bondage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, Dean was never supposed to catch up to Rhea until the last chapter. I've derailed my own plot. *shrug* Oh well. I'm a Dean-girl. The blue steel got me long ago. I just couldn't help the opportunity to give him some satisfaction. I hope I got him right. I've never tried to play with someone else's character before.
> 
> I combed through the fic and added 'warning' sections to the summaries on each chapter to assist readers in avoiding possible trigger situations. I will continue to utilize this convention in future chapters.

Rhea hit the floor, crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut, her vision going dark on impact. She imagined Dean wincing as he watched those familiar green eyes close and his own skull hit the ground, his hands not fast enough to cushion the blow. Hell, she winced at the impact despite her inability to actually show it. The last thing to go was her hearing. The scuff of his boots was almost deafening. She even heard a muffled curse as the last of her consciousness left her. Something along the lines of, "Shit. fuck." It wasn't exactly the most inventive expletive she had ever heard. The only thing that crossed her mind, though, was her good fortune. Dean might be willing to harm his body, but she doubted he would be willing to kill himself.

_Dean grunted with displeasure. He nudged the body, his body, with the toe of one boot. Rhea, if it was actually Rhea, didn't react. Dead weight. He watched the chest expand and contract. Well, maybe dead was not exactly the right term. Maybe completely limp? He pursed his lips, the skin between his eyes furrowing in thought. He looked behind him, sticking the barrel of the pistol down the back of his pants. The brunette on the floor did that twitching thing again, her leg spastically straightening and curling up in short rapid movements. Then her hands clenched and her back arched._

_The scene was straight out of some horror flick. The remnants of a wooden chair were surrounded in a halo-like blood spatter. Thicker drops lingered in some places with an obvious vertical trajectory. Someone or something had dripped and the droplets were large enough that whatever wound had caused them was not some minor thing. Various sharp and dangerous looking implements were haphazardly thrown into bags or piled on the table. Packing had been interrupted and he hadn't gotten here fast enough to be the culprit. He huffed and nudged his body again. No response. He had been aiming for disorientation and confused compliance not comatose. This wasn't going to be easy._

_The brunette made another worrisome noise and nearly rolled over. He frowned. He didn't have much time. If he had to guess, she wasn't dying. Dammit. A quick inspection of the blonde was not reassuring. She was breathing too, slow and steady. The blood had slowed to a trickle far too fast and the hole in the center of her forehead was now nothing more than a shiny disc of a scar on that smooth creamy flesh. Putting more bullets in them would only slow them down._

_"What the hell are you," he asked the empty room, swallowing the curse that would have followed. That had been his best silver ammunition with a salt capsule pressed into the hollow point. They were hell on the guns, but worked wonders when he wasn't sure what was waiting for him. No answer was forthcoming, though, and being a man of action he decided to concentrate on the task at hand. Questions could come later. He crossed the room and sifted through what he had assumed was a tool bag. He tossed it aside. It wasn't your typical tool bag and he really hadn't needed the reminder to hurry._

_It didn't take him long, though, to find it. "Yahtzee," he crowed when his hand closed on a length of rope and its even better cousin the duct tape. He bypassed the bleeding female whatevers on the floor and efficiently immobilized the unconscious male body with liberal application of the grey tape. She was now trussed up better than a Christmas turkey. His grin was pleased and just a touch feral. Watch her get out that._

_A feminine voice behind him groaned a word he recognized, "Sis...sister?" He froze. A moment later there was just the quiet breathing of unconsciousness and the steady road noise from outside._

_He was out of time. He checked the ropes and tape one last time before slipping his hands beneath the armpits and lifting the limp bulk against his smaller, less muscular frame. It was slow going and those previously blessed and pillowy balls of flesh on his chest were now rather unappreciated. Squishing them with the forced required to haul nearly two hundred pounds of muscled male for any distance actually hurt. He spared a moment of pity for Jo and her whining on the subject. Dragging Rhea out to the car took longer than he wanted. He had been forced to rest twice on the way out the door and he was beginning to wonder if she had somehow managed to gain him a few pounds in the last two days. He didn't see a pooch on his belly through the thin shirt covering him._

_The sleek black lines of Baby was a welcome sight, though. Rhea moaned when he dropped her just a bit too hard on the pavement next to the trunk. She didn't stir, though, when he popped the trunk and shoved his duffel out of the way. He didn't even bother with gentleness when he hefted her into the trunk of the Impala. He just picked her up one end at a time and halfway rolled her into the open space, folding limbs to fit. The sound of the trunk closing was eminently satisfying._

An aching shoulder slams into a hard curved surface. Green eyes open to darkness, pupils blown wide and unfocused in the gloom. She regained her wits long enough to register the claustrophobic space and the noisy vibrations. She lost it again, though, before she could make any sense of it. Green eyes closed and her skull hit the carpet and bounced once.

_The phone felt bigger in this hand and he found his fingers fumbling with the buttons. It was fortunate then that he only had to press one. He hesitated, almost shaking. His thumb hovered. What of he answered? What if he didn't? Dean inhaled and pressed, raising the phone to his ear as the phone rang. And rang. A single tear shimmered on his lower lid. Sam's voice spoke monotone on the voicemail. He flipped the phone closed. "Sammy," he whispered to the emptiness next to him._

She hadn't even realized how loud the engine had been until the noise died down. The steady rolling rumble was almost soothing. Her mind was clearing, thoughts coalescing. She unbent her knees and clumsily kicked something solid. She turned her head towards what she thought was the rear of the car. She almost smiled. She'd recognize that throaty purr anywhere. There was an arsenal beneath her. All she had to do was get to it.

She was too distracted working at the plastic loops around her wrists. It made her too slow. The trunk opened, and the sunlight was almost blinding. She didn't even see the hand that clamped over her carotids, cutting off the circulation. She struggled, but her movements were more of an undignified wiggle than anything effective. Everything was going fuzzy. She was floating. The hand never let up, sharp fingernails making half-moon indentations in the skin of her throat. She blinked and everything went dark.

_Dean checked the bonds, slammed the trunk closed, and got behind the wheel. The Impala's tires spun once and then bit hard as he accelerated down the rural highway, freshly painted nails tapping on the steering wheel to Zeppelin's crooning guitar._

The first indications that awareness was returning to her were the steady mechanical click of a window box air conditioner and the smell of burning hair. Despite all indications that it should be to the contrary, the next bit to come to Rhea's attention was the chill in the air. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, pulling the skin tight and uncomfortable as a slight shiver ran through her. The cloth beneath her cheek was scratchy and stuff. Or, the stubble on her cheek was proving to be well equipped to catch on the woven thread. Stubble. Stubble. She felt like she was supposed to be remembering something. Something important.

"You are very bad at pretending to be asleep," a feminine voice informed her. A heavy metal object hit wood and a chair creaked.

And that's when it came back to her. She groaned, only putting another nail in the coffin of her fantasies when the sound was whiskey rough and most decidedly male. The last few days had not been some fever-induced nightmare. To make things immeasurably worse her nose chose that exact moment to inform her of its newfound discomfort. A spot along the side and virtually impossible to reach without moving her arms began to itch, feeling like an entire army of ants he decided to take offense at one little patch of skin no more than a few millimeters wide. Being stubborn, she tried to scrunch up her face and rub the spot surreptitiously against the pillow. And failed. The itching sensation got worse.

On reflex she tried to move her hand to scratch it. And met resistance. She yanked, thinking the limb was merely caught beneath her head, and felt the bite of metal around her wrist. She rolled her shoulders and discovered that her hands were positioned above her head. That asshole had handcuffed both her hands to the headboard. She groaned in frustration, the pitch rising to a rather girly screech of indignation before she managed to cut it off. She thrashed at her arms, yanking with all the strength she could find. She even tried to turn on her side and discovered that her legs were tied spread eagle. She lost it. She kicked and yanked and twisted. Her pulse sped up. Her head was throbbing as a high-pitched whine drowned out the sound of the air rushing in and out of her lungs. Spots danced in her vision.

She heard a chuckle. "I know my knots. You aren't getting out of that until I get some answers," Dean so helpfully and cheerfully informed her.

His voice, her own voice, cut through the panic. She opened her eyes and the light stabbed her straight through the brain. The lids snapped closed on reflex as her temples throbbed anew and she turned her head, burying what she could into the pillow. "You really shouldn't be here," she finally said.

"Lady," he began, "I really don't give a shit." He stalked forward, looking every bit the part of an extremely pissed off femme fatale. "Fix me," he hissed in a voice several octaves higher than she had thought her vocal chords could accomplish. Rhea winced at the screech assaulting her ears. "Are you even this woman," he continued.

Rhea opened her eyes and managed to keep them open this time. "What answer do you want first, Dean," she asked.

He didn't even pause. "How do I undo this," he said gesturing between them.

"You can't," she replied.

The look her gave her was positively chilling and she figured out something. The guns. The painted symbols on the inside of the trunk. The fact that he had somehow tracked her and saved her from whatever the hell those two had been. He wasn't even panicking about the impossibility of waking up a woman's body. He was a hunter. Oh, this was bad, he's a hunter. That was so much worse. She started hyperventilating. She was so unbelievably stupid. She should get her own category in the Darwin Awards.

Fingers snapped in front of her face and she flinched. "Hey," he snapped. She blinked. His expression seemed to soften. "Listen, Baby is just fine. A little low on gas, but you treated her right," he began. "And you don't seem all that violent. If you fix this, make it right, and you promise never to do this again, to anyone, I'll consider letting you go."

The gun on the table wasn't helping matters. Her eyes slid over that familiar face and latched onto the bit of cold steel death across the room. That is probably how he was going to kill her. Would it happen quickly? Or would he make her linger? She had heard hunters liked to play with their prey before killing them. Some were rumored to be worse than the monsters they hunted.

He gripped her chin and yanked her vision to him, forcibly. "Eyes on the prize, sweet heart," he said almost gently. He waited until she appeared to actually see him before continuing, "Every spell can be countered."

She licked her lips, "You can't undo it." He made a noise somewhere between a growl and a squeak and she hastened to continue, "You don't have to."

He narrowed his eyes, interested. "Explain."

"I had seventy-two hours to lead them as far away from my body as I could before the effects wore off." She spoke quickly, getting it all out in a rush.

The smile curled one side of his lips and she noticed he was wearing her favorite shade of shimmering pink lipstick. "Why did you target me," he asked.

"Believe me, if I had gotten one clue that you would be this much trouble I would have found someone else." She shrugged, feeling the shift of metal chain on the metal headboard. "You were passing through and easy on the eyes," she admitted.

"Do you know who I am," he pressed. This part he seemed even more interested in.

She shook her head mutely.

"And the sex," he added. "Was it part of the ritual?"

"I am not a siren," she replied a bit grouchily, a bit offended at the thought.

He nodded, "I know." Was he wearing eye shadow? She didn't own any eye shadow.

"Is that what has your panties in a bunch," she asked. "The fact that we fucked and then I fucked you," she blurted and instantly regretted it. Getting him angry would not help matters. She hurried on, hoping to distract him, "How did you know? That I'm not a monster," she clarified quickly.

He played with the shirt she was wearing, picking at the fabric. "You aren't any monster I have encountered before. I'll give you that." He pulled a thin shining butterfly knife from somewhere and flipped it up. She pulled away almost violently as he gently dragged the blunt side of the blade along the exposed skin of her arm. The cuffs rattled and halted her motion far too soon. "You don't react to silver, iron, holy water, or anything else I could think to use. And neither do I." He absently left the metal against her for a moment longer before setting it aside. "That rules out a lot of creepy crawlies, but not all," he announced before straightening."

"I'm human," she insisted.

"I didn't find your hex bag," he continued. "Means you're probably not a witch."

Hex bag? What the hell is a hex bag? "I'm human but those two women were not. I doubt you killed them." Maybe if she threw him something to chew on he'd get off the subject.

He nodded, "They were comin' round when we left." He went to the window and moved the curtains just enough to see the parking lot outside. "What did they want," he spoke into the glass.

Her bladder chose that moment to remind her of its existence. She rattled the cuffs, "I need to pee."

He ignored her. "Were they after me or you," he asked again.

She groaned, exaggerating the sound to get her point across. "Let me take a piss. Give me something to drink. Then I'll tell you what I know."

He smirked and she got worried. Understandably so, considering his chosen profession. He rummaged around in his duffel, moving aside tightly packed clothing and what sounded like bits of metal. The weapons. She was about to get even more worried when his hand re-emerged with an empty plastic water bottle. "In case you haven't noticed, I lack a certain physical advantage," he drawled, making her sound like some down south southern belle.

She found she actually liked the effect. She didn't appreciate, though, what else he was doing. He had unscrewed the top on the water bottle and was dragging down the zipper on the jeans she was wearing. "What are you," she began.

"There is one advantage to being a guy," he said. He had gotten the zipper all the way down and was now reaching into the boxers she was wearing.

She squirmed and shook her head, "Let me up."

"Sweet heart, you literally don't have anything I haven't seen before." He slapped her thigh, hard, the sting shocking her into stillness. "This is your only chance to take a piss. I suggest you don't waste it," he said as he pulled her limp cock out and lined up the mouth of the bottle. "At least you don't have to wear this torture device designed by Victoria," he grumped, rolling his shoulders on a familiar manner.

She bit her lip and turned her head. All she had to do was relax. Seconds passed as an entire monologue played in her head. Finally she closed her eyes and let go. He didn't say anything. When she was done he wiped her off and righted her clothing, tucking her into her jeans efficiently and with as little contact as necessary.

Her eyes were still closed when a straw bumped her lips. She opened her eyes, her gaze snapping to the bottle in his hands and then back up to his face. Reassured she drank what she could before he took it away again and sat down in the chair next to the gun on the table. "Now talk," he ordered. His tone left little room for negotiation. Thus far he had been civil, even kind for a hunter.

She played with her full bottom lip, chewing lightly as she determined where to begin in her story. Then she began talking. It poured out of her. She told him about her uncle and his gambling debt, about the strange things that tended to happen around him when he had been late on a payment. She told him about that night she had come home to find him dying on the kitchen floor. She even spoke of the men she knew were after her. Her uncle had told her that they had something or someone that could track what he called fëa. Whatever it was, though, seemed to be a more general area effect than a pinpoint homing beacon. Once they got close, the three men she had been dodging for nearly a month seemed to be limited to their mundane senses.

"And the spell," he pressed.

"I don't know how to undo it. My uncle said something about one of the blood." She shrugged, the chain once again reminding her of her current predicament.

"Oh, that's just awesome," he grouched. "So, what, I'm stuck like this for another thirty-two hours?" His mood had soured over the last half hour as he had listened to her. Speaking in his voice. Telling him there was nothing he could do. Telling him he was in deeper shit than just one little spell. "Is the spell written down somewhere? How did you cast it?"

Rhea checked the alarm clock and counted back. "Thirty-seven. It should wear off in thirty-seven hours, give or take. That is, if my uncle was not mistaken." He didn't look pleased at that last bit. "You really should let me go. I can lead them away from you and once the spell wears off they won't even be interested in you."

He shook his head, "That's my body you want to take off in. My body and my car. It's not happening. I've seen a lot of spells. Every spell can be broken. I just need to know how it was cast." He leaned forward a little, "So tell me."

"If you promise to help me," she countered.

He blew out a breath. Frustration. She could see it simmering. "I'm insane," he joked before continuing, "Alright. I'll help you." She rattled the cuffs chaining her to the headboard and he sighed before letting her free. First thing she did was stretch. Apparently she took a bit too long enjoying that luxury because he cleared his throat and looked pointedly at her.

"Right," she leaned back into the headboard, wedging a pillow at the small of her back. She pointed to the ring he was still wearing once she was comfortable, "My ring."

He yanked the bit of silver off his hand faster than if it had been on fire, "What the fuck!?" It landed on the table and bounced, eventually rolling to the dirty carpet and underneath the nearby dresser.

She laughed, "It can't hurt you now." The sound startled him. She clutched her stomach as her laughter echoed in the small room, "You silly man." He practically glowered at her and the expression was a bit hilarious on the feminine face, rather cute actually. "The damage is already done," she giggled, taking a deep gasping breath at the end. "All I did was touch you, skin to skin, speak a few words and," she spun her hand in the air to mimic a tornado, "presto."

They talked for a little while longer, but nothing much more was said. There were a lot of questions she didn't have the answer to and even more questions she managed to dodge by feigning ignorance. Over chinese takeout they concluded that the best course of action was to split up. He in the Charger and she in some crappy stolen car. Bodily harm had been threatened when she had mentioned taking the Impala again. The man really did love his car.

They had just finished hiding the sleek black beauty he called Baby and were about to part ways when Dean turned to her and said, "Who were they really? The two women I rescued you from."

"I don't know. Human? I'm not even sure they were looking for me. They said I smelled of the drow." She looked over at him. "Does that mean anything to you?"

He shrugged, "It's been fun, Rhea. Make sure I never see you again." The Charger's engine roared down the highway and she was struck with the sudden thought that she should have died already. She narrowed her gaze against the glare of the sun, watching the green speck disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I envision another 3-5 chapters depending on plot development. I once started a short story, though, and 300 pages later I'm still writing it. So, no promises.
> 
> I thrive on comments!  
> Please, let me know how I am doing.


	8. malairt slí agus rudaí lonracha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea isn't entirely honest with Dean. Oh, and she takes his body for a test drive.
> 
> WARNING: explicit sex, menage a' trois, modified spit-roast, homosexual sex, sodomy, analingus, cunnulingus, fellatio, threesome, swingers, profanity, and a little plot to make the chapter worthwhile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter name is "detours and shiny things" in 'Irish' according to Google Translate.
> 
> For this chapter I asked myself a question. What is the first thing I would do if I suddenly found myself in such an irresistable hunk of male flesh? Don't tell me your answer wasn't the same.
> 
> For the first scene I had the most informative conversation with a couple guy friends of mine. Their minds are more technically oriented than literary, but we managed to work out a few descriptive terms and ideas. The most amusing part for them was figuring out the physical logistics of what I was proposing. I was fine with the IRL examples. When they busted out the whiteboard and the equations, though, I was done. Calculus is my archnemesis. Also, my google search history looks very interesting right now.

"So pretty," the woman in front of her mused.

Her back was scraping on a rough wall again. Her head fell back on the chipped blue paint and a ragged moan left her throat, sounding low like roasted gravel. Her hips pushed forward into a hand and talented fingers as nails scratched across straining denim. A mouth brushed along the bare skin just above her waistband, nipping lightly at the small hairs below her navel. Another mouth tugged on an earlobe, breathing harshly and sending shockwaves of raised flesh along her spine. She vaguely noticed that she and Dean shared some of the same erogenous zones. Familiar places were lighting up with sensation as fingers ghosted by. The difference was, her knees weren't collapsing this time.

"I'm going to make you feel good," the man promised.

The warmth to her right shifted, pressing fully against her. His cheek was smooth and smelled of spicy saffron and earth. She turned her head and caught his lips in a kiss, ignoring the scrape of her moistened ear on the wall. He was shorter than her, but she managed without dislodging the woman working on her jeans. She was feeling languid tonight. There was an urgency on her groin that she felt nowhere else and that made it easy to ignore, to postpone.

"But first, we need to take the edge off," his wife commented.

The sound of her zipper being lowered was loud in the hushed silence of wet sounds and breathy moans. Moist heat surrounded her throbbing cock. She choked and her hips thrust forward helplessly. The sensation was overwhelming and entirely unlike what she was used to. Three hands kept her still, pressed against the wall. A fourth traveled up under her shirt, tracing the muscles it found. His hands were larger, the fingers thicker, and his callouses gave them a slightly rougher texture.

He traced a scar that crossed the iliac crest from front to back, "I like a man that works for a living." She was being overwhelmed with pleasure and they had only just started.

Silken strands of hair brushed her denim-clad thighs with each stroke of her mouth and the suction as she pulled back nearly made Rhea cross-eyed. Desperate to touch someone she yanked the husband's starched dress shirt open, sending buttons flying and revealing a lean runner's physique. The woman circled the base of her cock with one hand and applied pressure as she brought her grip towards her mouth, where she was licking the underside of the head like a lollipop. Rhea's shirt came off, up and over her head before she knew what had happened. She had the man's kahkis open and his dick in her hand just as fast. She pumped slowly, feeling the hard length get ever harder, longer, thicker. He groaned and his hand went still on her pectoral. With her other hand she grabbed a bunch of long silken hair and forced the woman's mouth from her crotch. She let go with a pop and Rhea hissed as cold conditioned air bathed the sensitive head.

She needed to assert some sort of control over the situation or she was going to come embarassingly fast. She looked down. "Does your husband suck cock as well as you do," she asked, eyebrow raised.

The woman nodded as best she could in the tight hold, "Even better."

Rhea smirked, and she hoped she got the wicked grin right on Dean's face. She turned her gaze to the flushed face next to her. "Here is what's going to happen. Everyone is getting naked and you are going to kneel by the bed on the floor. Your wife will be on the bed." She let go of the woman, whose mouth latched onto her cock again like some rubber band had snapped her back into position. Rhea stiffled the sounds coming from her throat and allowed herself a couple seconds to enjoy the woman's skill before she stopped her again and pushed them both towards the bed. Considering what was supposed to come next, it wasn't long before everyone was naked and in their places.

With her toe she nudged the nub of bright red plastic peeking out from between the man's butt cheeks. He wiggled and spots nearly as red bloomed on the cheeks of his face. Much of what they were about to do had already been negotiated. Before the night was through that plug was coming out and her cock was going in. He had been quite adamant on that point, especially after he had gotten a tentative feel. Right now, though, Rhea wanted his mouth on her. She sat down on the bed, legs spread, upper body leaning back on her elbows.

He stayed put, obviously wanting orders. His wife rubbed a nipple along her bicep and provided it. "Baby," she said. He looked up at her, waiting. She trailed one manicured hand down Rhea's abdominals, the muscles contracting as she passed. She ended up nearly leaning on Rhea. She had gotten what she wanted though. Her hand held Rhea's erection out at the perfect angle. She smiled and purred, "Show him how good you are."

Rhea rewarded her by leaning down and sucking that nipple into her mouth. She rolled the tender flesh with her teeth. Her next thought was a garbled affirmation that the woman had been right about her husband. The man swallowed her down, all the way to the root without pause and then swallowed. "He do this often," she joked. Her words ended on a throaty moan.

"Baby, you look so good with a mouthfull of cock," the woman crooned.

It almost broke Rhea's mood. Almost. The male libido, however, was not so easily dissuaded. The orgasm, when it hit, had her thrusting into the man's mouth with a strength and speed she would not bave dared to try had he not encouraged her. Filthy words spilled from her lips in a low growl that almost had her coming all over again. She pushed into the cavern of his mouth, his lips closing over her with every withdrawal, until her cock became soft. She barely noticed that she had been fingering the wife the entire time until the woman shuddered on her hand, rocking on the fingers buried inside of her.

Rhea was not normally a screamer and her conversation during sex was limited. It was the tiny movements, the breathy moans, and most importantly of all her facial expressions which best revealed her. "If you enjoyed that, how many times are you going to come watching me fuck him," she asked. Apparently, tonight was going to be an exception. She pushed the woman onto her back with her body, nipping and sucking in some of her favorite places. The man moved up behind her, licking along her spine from bottom to top. She arched her spine.

Her mouth traveled from the stiff rosey peaks of the woman's nipples to the shallow indentation of her navel and then lower. She bypassed the core, concentrating instead on the tender skin of the crease between thigh and groin. The man reached the bottom of her spine, his tongue licking along the flesh covering her sacrum. The wet tip dipped into her crack, causing her to shiver. She rose up and looked behind her. His lips were swollen and red and his eyes had a dreamy quality. The woman shifted and she halted her movements with hand, petting just above her cunt. She threaded the springy hairs between her fingers, eliciting a very feminine moan.

He stopped his ministrations, his tongue leaving her skin. "Can I go lower," he asked.

She looked him in the eye and nodded, pushing her ass into him enough to get her point across. "Go ahead, eat me out," she offered.

He returned to his task. With a hand on each round globe of her ass he pulled the flesh apart to find the winking dark star In between. He lathed it with his tongue, diving in and giving a long lick from her perineum to the top of her crack. She spread her knees on a low groan, giving him better access and bowed her back. His confidence rose. One finger dipped in and lightly rubbed along the rim before he added saliva with another pass of his tongue.

Rhea made her way along the inside of the woman's thigh. She started at the back of her knees, sliding her hands before her mouth. She spread the woman open before her, and she complied eagerly. The slight rasp of the stumble on her cheek left a red glow on the skin as she passed, from knee to very high on her thigh. "Oh," she squeaked when Rhea sucked on one labia majora. The taste

The man speared into her and closed his mouth around the circular muscle. His hand cupped her balls, rolling them gently in the sack. He dipped down to suck one onto his mouth. Rhea saw stars. The gentle burn that had begun to smolder turned into a fiery ache. Her penis started filling. It was an almost slow process compared to the rapid stiffening that had ocurred earlier. She could enjoy it more rather than getting hit between the eyes with the sensation. The man didn't stop once her erection was evident either. He sucked on a finger, getting it nice and wet before he began to work it into her. Rhea spread herslf open further. The burn intensified, turning into a throbbing she could feel in the mushroom head. His finger pushed relentlessly and he quickly found her prostate. Her balls jumped, a muscular contraction in response to the unexpected massage of a gland she had never even possessed before.

"Holy fuck," she shouted.

The sound vibrated through the woman's cunt. That combined with the rasp of her cheek on intimate skin had the woman below her yelling in delight. "Do that again," she pleaded. Rhea complied with a wicked grin and the pleased noises continued.

"I could milk you like this," he said and pressed harder. He licked suddenly up the center ending in a nip of teeth on her lower back.

It didn't take long for her to hurtle towards the edge. She could feel her balls tucking up against her body. She almost missed the warning, unthinkingly expecting the throbbing of engorged labia instead. She lifted her head and rasped out, "Stop."

The order was instantly obeyed and she managed to back away from another orgasm. She didn't want to wait through another recovery time or find out that two was the max for tonight. She panted, thinking of anything but sex. Decaying corpses. Taxes. Justin Beiber. That last one did the trick and she flopped over on her back, breathing hard but safely off the precipice. 

The man crawled up onto the bed and moved Rhea until she was laying in the center. He had straddled her knees and his hands were currently tracing patterns into the skin of her upper thighs, playing gently with the small hairs there. He leaned down and licked one long stripe from her balls to the tip of her cock. It jumped to meet his mouth. He kissed the slit, tasting bitter precum, before pulling away.

They had wanted to tie her down for this next part and her gut had churned at that, fear spiking so high she was quick to dismiss the possibility. She had been careful to make it clear no form of bondage would be ocurring tonight. Only when they understood did her anxiety ease somewhat and she consented to accompany them. Still, there were two of them, husband and wife, and only one of her. Even with this muscled form taller than her sexual partners she could be overpowered, made vulnerable. This was a risk she shouldn't be taking. The only benefit that could be had was an experience, a unique adventure she would most likely not have the opportunity to know again. She hadn't been able to resist.

She propped her had up on a pillow and pulled him up her body for a kiss. He fell against her, cocks sliding together. When they broke apart she spoke into his mouth, "Get a condom. I want to fuck you now."

He nodded eagerly. "I want to ride you," he responded. There was an annoying buzzing sound coming from her clothing on the floor. She ignored it.

She gave him a lazy smile, her voice whiskey smooth, "Hell yes."

The woman rolled the condom down her dick with her teeth, taking her cock deep and snugging the latex against the base. More lube was applied with a quick swipe. Rhea couldn't help the moan and the thrusting of her hips in response. She was going to miss blow jobs after this was all over. When the woman pulled back Rhea patted her thighs, "Climb on."

He didn't pause. The butt plug was out and he was sliding down her dick in almost the same motion. The buzzing started up again. She gasped, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, green eyes wide.

The woman leaned down and kissed her, licking into her mouth. Their teeth clacked together. Her husband started moving. He began a slow rhythm, rising up and down at a languid pace, letting her get used to the waves of pleasure crashing over her. She barely heard the, "Fucking baseball bat for a cock. Feels so good," he moaned, loudly.

Rhea needed something else to concentrate on. "I want you to come on my tongue," she told the woman. With her hands she maneuvered her so that she was straddling Rhea's shoulders, knees spread wide and pussy hovering just above her mouth. She parted her lips and extended her tongue, licking gently at the labia minora. The woman grabbed onto the head board with white knuckles and lowered down even further.

Rhea used every trick she could remember ever being used on her. Teeth, tongue, lips, and even hands took part. The woman began to rock against her mouth and she adjusted to the motion, letting it add another dimension to what she was doing. The man on her cock had picked up the pace and soon he was rising up and slamming down. Rhea planted her feet and added her own thrusts. The buzzing happened again. And again.

It took a surprisingly long time for Dean's muscles to feel fatigued and yet she kept going, working through the burn. She felt it when the man orgasmed, his seed spilling onto her abdominals and pectorals. She thrust a few more times into his tightening channel before she followed, pumping into the condom. She quickened the pace of her tongue and sucked harder on the upper half of the woman's cunt. She reached up and pinched her nipples. She felt the spasm go through her pussy. She did it again, adding a swirling swipe of her tongue and then thickened the muscle and speared deep. With a shout that ended on a scream the woman followed them, hurtling into another orgasm. Rhea gentled her mouth, coaxing her climax into a second one that barreled into her and left her slumped to the side.

Rhea was being choked. The woman's thigh was sitting on her throat and the husband was still on her groin, her cock still buried in his ass. Her erection hadn't gone down completely. She still had enough blood pressure to remain inside of him. "Alright, everyone out of the pool. Rodeo ride is over," she grouched. There was lube everywhere. She felt disgusting.

Her shower was quick and utilitarian. She used the hotel soap and clambered back into her clothing. On the way out the door she accepted the little business card with their number on it even though there was no way they would recognize her ever again. The door closed behind her with a click. The night air was cool and she breathed in the smell of deisel and grease. Her next destination was close enough that she decided to walk it.

There was a cheap burner phone in her jacket. She had almost forgotten about it until the phone had started vibrating again. Dean had tossed it to her from the Impala's trunk. He'd had a whole bag of the things just waiting. Talk about survivalist mentality. She absently pressed a button to activate the screen and noticed seven missed calls, all from the same number.

The phone on the other end rang once before she heard a frustrated feminine voice on the other end, "Where the hell were you?"

"Busy," she informed him. "What do you need?"

"What the fuck do you think you are doing with my body?"

No, it couldn't be. "I'm getting dinner," she replied. Lame, so lame. Couldn't she come up with something a little more believable? This was pathetic. If he was getting the same full-experience movies, what had he already seen? "Is there anything else?"

"So, you weren't having this really hot threesome about an hour ago," he pressed.

Yep, she was screwed. Deflect! "I should have asked this before I took off with you. Are you allergic to anything?"

"No."

"Lactose intolerant?"

"No."

"Soy sensitive."

"No."

"What about eggs?"

"Jesus christ, no," he snapped. "Eat whatever the hell you want. What's with the twenty questions?"

"I figure I might as well treat you right while I have you," she replied, happy he had gotten off the subject so easily. She sucked at lying outright.

"That sounded so wrong," he chuckled. "How's the plan going," he asked.

Was he trying to have a civil conversation? "Fine," she replied warily. She had glimpsed her tail a few hours ago and was confident they weren't going to skip town and head for Dean and her body.

"I'll be in position in a couple of hours," he continued.

"I still don't know why you want me to go to some bumfuck town in North Dakota," she grouched.

"Cause I want to be in a secure place when it happens, that's why." When the switchback happens. Thirty-one hours to go. Everything had to be in place before then.

"Just make sure you aren't driving when the time comes," she said. The last thing she needed was to wake up to the sight of a telephone pole slamming into her at seventy miles per hour. She picked up the pace, making the transition from the noise of the city streets to the din of the crowded Irish pub. It even had the raucous drinking songs by Dropkick Murphy's playing from a boombox in the corner.

"Where are you," he asked, suddenly curious. That didn't sound like your typical roadside dive.

She gestured to the bartender with one hand. "I told you. I'm hungry." The bartender slipped her a menu. "Listen, call me later if anything happens."

He sounded a little sad, "Yeah, sure," and hung up.

Rhea put the phone away and happily ordered the house special, tasty but not even a little authentic. Her second request, though, required a little more time. The owner of this fine establishment was in a meeting, she was informed by the bartender with air quotes and everything. She sat down to wait. Fortune had been kind to this bar's owner. She had only ever met the man twice, the first time covered in blood and begging her uncle for sanctuary. The blood had mostly been his and her uncle had helped him out with a little debt that needed to be paid. A debt in blood, bone, and silver. She had never been able to get anything else out of the old codger about that night. Now she never would. This lively Irish pub was just another piece of her family's history she had known nothing about. Her Uncle's picture on the wall, smiling and holding up a Guiness, showed her that. He had told her to not trust that thievin' git further than ye can spit. Funny thing was, he had trusted the man. He had trusted him with quite a bit. In the end, he had trusted him with the very thing that could get her out of this mess. Rhea hadn't been entirely truthful with Dean. She hadn't told him she had been on the way to pay her Uncle's debt with something so far from mundane it would make the hunter's teeth ache.

A very dark brew of roasted arabica beans was warming her hands long before the bar's owner made his appearance. He was a short man, the top of his bald head barely reaching the base of her sternum. He wasn't shy, though. With all the bluster of someone suffering from small dog syndrome he spoke first. "Who the hell are you," he asked rather loudly.

"I'm Rhea's contact," she held out her hand like she was expecting a welcoming handshake. She didn't get one. "She said you had something for me."

"Right, Mr. Mysterioso," he remarked. He looked her up and down, clearly skeptical. He sniffed in her direction and then finally grabbed her offered hand. He didn't shake it though. No, he buried his nose in the skin on her palm and took a big whiff. When he straightened he had the strangest look on his face. "Follow me," he said before stomping off behind the bar and through the back door.

Not knowing what else to do she followed. The space beyond the door was cramped for someone of Dean's stature. His broad shoulders took up quite a bit of the width of the narrow hallway. There was another door she had to duck to fit through and past stacked boxes of beer and peanuts was a tiny office, walls lined with metal filing cabinets. Her uncle's friend was sitting in a chair facing her.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. "Close the door," he ordered.

She complied, willing to play along for now. She was currently thankful that Dean had sent her off with a few knives and one of his less flashy handguns. Being armed was calming her jittery nerves.

"She said you were tall," he remarked looking up and up at her face. "I didn't expect a giant in flannel plaid."

She crossed her arms and did her best to play manly. "Do you have what she needs or not," she asked.

"Not so fast. You see, a vague physical description is not going to cut it. And neither is that stupid prompt and response CIA bullshit she thought up," he replied.

"Then what will," she said, her voice betraying her unease.

"You, my boy, positively stink of the drow." She had heard that before and it made no more sense this time than last. He patted the small plastic chair next to him. It looked like a child's chair. She folded Dean's body into it though, ignoring the protesting joints in the process. "My guess is, you aren't Rhea's friend," he explained.

She shifted, her nerves suddenly even higher than the Defcon 3 status they had been on five seconds ago. Defcon 4 sounded more appropriate.

He looked at her almost parentally. "Rhea, you used that damned ring, didn't you," he said. It wasn't a question.

Her mouth opened, and closed. She had intended to say something. A denial would have been good. Anything would have better than stunned silence.

He nodded, "Thought so." He opened his desk drawer and began sifting through the flotsam within. His fist finally emerged clutching two bronze trinkets. He shoved them at her. "Here, put these on." When she looked dumbly at him he said, "Now would be a good time."

She eyed them suspiciously, but when they neither tried to eat her nor started spouting sonnets she pulld the cords over her head. A pressure she hadn't noticed dissipated. "How did you know," she asked.

"That scent," he replied as if she should be enlightened. When she didn't seem to be he continued, "That stench of drow you've got going on. It's dark sidhe magic. There are only three artifacts that could produce that scent in this world and two of them are in a private collection not even Sir Charles Lytton could get to. That leaves Athrai, sometimes known as the instrument of change." He closed the drawer with a chuckle. "I never would have guessed that old bastard had it all these years." An electric kettle whistled from its corner spot on a nearby file cabinet. He poured some into two cups, "Tea?"

She shook her head but accepted when he handed it to her anyways. "Dark magic. Does that make the ring evil," she asked.

He laughed, "Oh no. The fae don't understand good and evil. Those of the light are just as likely to kill you for fun as the dark. It is all just flavor."

"What does that make it then," she asked.

"Powerful," he answered. "And dangerous."

She tried to ignore that last bit. She couldn't do anything about it at this moment. She could, however, pay her uncle's debt. "So, do you have what I need or not?"

"I do," he replied, instantly improving her mood. He gestured to the full cup in her hand. "Drink. The brew will mask the scent for a couple hours. I'm surprised you don't have every dverger and fae folk on the continent after you by now." He drained his cup in one big gulp. "And those amulets will help with the visions, both ways."

She took a sip and was pleased the taste was palatable, pleasurable even. "Dvergr," she asked.

"Dwarves from Łysogóry. Nasty bunch, but it's the women you really have to watch out for," he remarked with a slight shudder. He tapped one nostril with a fingertip, "Best nose for magic there is." He refilled his cup and set it on the desk while he turned back around and ran his finger down the filing cabinets.

"What do they look like," she asked.

"Who?"

"The dvergr. What do they look like?"

He tapped one yellowed label thoughtfully and then pulled the drawer above it open. "Oh. Not what you'd expect. I'd say about my height or a little shorter with grey or dark brown skin. And they like to poke you with bits of the earth." His fingers walked along the hanging blue folders until he found the one he was looking for. "Ahah, there you are," he said to the file in his hands. "Obsidian shards conduct the best," he continued.

She nearly choked. "Are there such a thing as dvergr that look human and can heal?"

He nodded, flipping through the thick file thoughfully. "Make-up, or a glamourey from a witch or one of the fae," he replied. "And they can't all heal. It's why they travel in groups of at least two. If you are especially unlucky you'll run into a whole clan of twenty or more." He reached in between the papers and pulled out a flat piece of scrap metal.

Rhea downed the last of the tea and took it from him. On it was a lifelike painting of a deep purple bag, one of those small messenger bags with brown canvas trim and bronze fittings. "A painting," she asked.

He smiled and shook his head, "Not quite. You were probably wondering why your uncle trusted me at all. With my track record I'm not a good bet." He touched the metal, "To me and just about every one else it is just a piece of metal and some color. To your uncle and you, however, it is far more." He set the painting on the desk. "You just have to reach in," he grabbed at the air between them, "and take it." He pointed to the painting again. "What you need will be inside the bag."

She reached out as if to comply and he stopped her hand. "Not here," he explained.

She stuffed the metal into the inner pocket of her jacket. "Do you have anything else of my uncle's," she asked.

"No. You are very direct. I like that. Try to survive," he said before returning to his paperwork.

It was clear to Rhea that she had been dismissed. She got up to leave. "Also, next time you need to borrow a body don't pick a Winchester. They tend to get a bit testy about that sort of thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I littered this chapter with Easter eggs. Did you find them all?
> 
> Don't forget to comment and tell me how I'm doing!


	9. A Bag of Holding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is ever easy and a cabin is only as safe as you make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the brevity. I just couldn't find ways to expand the events without turning into Dostoevsky and it felt like too natural a chapter break to pass by. I have already begun Chapter 10, which continues the scene.

It was the middle of nowhere when she finally pulled over. Curiosity had gotten the best of her and she found herself stroking the painted surface of that piece of scrap metal. It was a poor excuse for a piece of artwork and she could hardly believe it would fetch even a few dollars much less pay a substantial debt. She thought back to what her uncle's friend had said. He had told her to reach in and take it. Had he meant for her to physically reach in and take it? She tapped the surface absently. Reach in and take it. She shrugged and figured, what the hell.

The first attempt bruised the tips of her fingers, her nails scraping along the metal. The second went just as poorly and she cut her finger on the jagged edge as well. The third, however, almost worked. The tip of one finger actually sank into the metal for a moment before she again met solid steel. She pulled her hand back and examined its surface. Rhea sucked on the cut. It was small enough that the bleeding had ceased almost immediately.

Her fourth try was even closer. Her entire hand sank into the metal and she felt the fabric of the bag's strap in her grasp before the metal solidified with her hand stuck inside of it. She had a moment of sheer incredulity before she panicked, waving her hand around frantically in a useless attempt to literally shake the metal off of her. It held fast. That fact didn't sink in for several moments and the jagged edges of the metal made several deep slashes in the upholstery next to her as well as the padding of the steering wheel cover in front of her.

It took her several more minutes before she realized she was being an idiot. She needed to calm down and think her way out of this. She started her deep greathing exercises, concentrating on nothing but the color blue. Blue sky. Blue bells. Blue robin's eggs. Blue lips. Cyanosis. Her eyes popped open in alarm. There was nothing but the empty road and a cracked windshield. She started over. Blue sky. Blue sea. Blue hospital walls. Tranquility was not easily accomplished. Her yoga instructor had once told her that her mind tended to flit about like a hummingbird, never resting. She more likened the phenomenon to a squirrel on angel dust. That was when she realized she was no longer panicking. The piece of metal popped off her hand and landed in the footwell of the passenger seat. She wiggled her newly reacquired fingers and was delighted to see the purple bag dangling from them. It looked smaller than she expected, more of an oversized purse than a messenger bag. It also looked empty.

Rhea frowned. She undid the two big brass buckles and flipped open the top. Her eyes went wide. She quickly flipped the top closed and held the bag out to examine it. It still looked empty, floppy even. She sat it back in her lap and opened the top. Inside it looked almost like a starry night sky, only every single star was something. Each dim point of light had a defined shape and form. Out of the blackness a piece of paper floated towards her and she made a grab for it.

The writing was in her uncle's elegant caligraphy. She skimmed through the letter, catching the odd phrase here and there until she got to the end. In block letters, carefully made as close to Comic Sans as could be made by hand, her uncle had simply written, "Remember, think of what you desire and if the bag holds it, whatever it is shall come to your hand." She set the note aside and scowled. She highly doubted her uncle was in there somewhere. No, what she needed right now was something relatively harmless but highly valuable. A small golden orb floated to her hand and began to pulse with light. She tossed it back into the bag. Something that would buy her life without costing others theirs. The orb hovered at the lip of the bag and then toppled into her lap. Something that... She looked down. Think of what you desire. For once the old codger had been speaking literally and not in riddles.

Rhea held the orb up to her face. It was small, no more than a couple centimeters in diameter. It also weighed nearly nothing and she wondered if it was hollow. The light pulsed as if in answer, so bright she was blinded and for the next few moments the spots in her vision blotted out everything else. She was forced to use her sense of touch to navigate the interior of the car and find the bag again. She was going to put the bright orb back. She'd very much like to keep her ability to see and she doubted Dean would let her live much longer if she caused him to go blind. Her fingers slide around the curved surface, though as if it was made of liquid. It was slick and so smooth she barely felt it at all. That was when she noticed the paper tag attached to the orb. The texture was such a contrast she wonder how she could have missed it. It felt like sturdy card stock and thin cotton twine.

The label was written on both sides in her uncle's handwriting. It was indeed a label. On one side was written, 'Light of Elune.' On the other, 'A source of light in the darkness when all other lights go out.' Yep, that was definitely her uncle alright. He had a flair for the theatrical and he reveled in it. The man had just shamelessly quoted J.R.R. Tolkein. She rolled the little ball in her hand. It might serve nicely for her purposes. She just hoped it wasn't the magical equivalent of a hot wheels car.

Clutching the little golden orb Rhea closed up the purple bag and made a grab for the piece of metal. The best thing for her to do right now would be to put that thing back where she found it. There was a vast horde hidden in there. She had seen it. She also couldn't help but imagine how much damage someone could do with the contents of that bag. She imagined not many people could have retrieved it in the first place. Then she thought better of it. A piece of metal was conspicuous and unwieldy. No, what she needed was something small and bendy, easily concealed. She rummage around, considered using a piece of junkmail she found in the glove box when her fingers ferreted out a deck of cards in one of the many pockets of that leather jacket she had been wearing around. She giggled as she selected the joker card and, with a bit of serene concentration, she placed the bag into the back side of the card. She rolled the little golden Light of Elune over her knuckles before she pulled out another playing card, the ace of spades, and repeated the process. Now she had two playing cards with unique 'paintings' on the back.

A very long and dull car ride later found her in a little forest cabin in North Dakota with nearly nine hours left on the clock. Things were looking up. Sure, the mattress felt like lumpy plywood and the stove was wood-fired, but she was still alive and she had a plan on how to stay that way. Her levity, however, only lasted as long as the novelty of her rustic surroundings. It didn't take long for the lack of TV and complete isolation to get to her. She lasted about an hour, pacing the roomlike a caged tiger. She dug into a pocket and pulled out a candybar phone, cheap and offbrand. Her finger hovered over the number pad of the burner phone Dean had given her. Impulsively she hit speed dial.

A gruff feminine voice greeted her with, "Yeah?"

Had Dean been sleeping? For a moment she felt guilty. He was in this mess because she had been desperate and he looked to be just passing through, which had been an accurate assumption. There had been other marks, though. Other men who had clearly been on the long road. She had chosen him specifically because of one undeniable fact. He was also stunningly, jaw-droppingly pretty. She hadn't been able to resist pretty.

"What's a Winchester," she asked rather cheerily. 

"It's a rifle," he answered almost automatically. "You could have found that on Google."

"No. Someone said, 'Next time you need to borrow a body don't pick a Winchester.' I know it is your name. So, explain to me what that means," she replied.

"That would be me, sweet heart. My name is Dean Winchester." She rolled her eyes. She had figured that much out. The rustling of cloth obscured his voice for a moment before he came back. "My family, well, we hunt things. We hunt monsters and we save people. Who have you been talking to?"

"This guy at the bar I stopped to eat in," she replied, trying to keep her response as vague as possible. She was already screwed if he had any way of tracking where she had been. She didn't need to be ratting anyone else out in the process.

"He specifically said 'Winchester' and he just let you go," he emphasized. The incredulity in his voice was palpable.

She nodded, gulped and said, "Yes." Maybe she should have kept her trap shut. Maybe she could hang up right now and save herself the headache.

"I don't believe you," he said, his voice hard.

She fiddled with the dust on the table. The wood had some interesting dark stains and she refused to think about what exactly could have made them. "Believe what you like," her voice almost subdued as if to convince herself. "Can I ask you a question," she asked.

"Shoot," he said automatically. His tone conveyed his utter expasperation on the matter, though.

"Am I a monster," she asked. "I mean, I took your body and your car without asking."

He snarled at the mention of his car, and she briefly cursed her big mouth yet again. He didn't dwell on it. He didn't even mention it. He breathed out, though, long and slow and she wished she could see his face. "The jury is still out on that one. I think the fact that you are asking means a lot," he finally told her, his voice hard and cool. Her nerves were not soothed. "What is this about," he asked. "Did something happen?"

She was quick to deny, "No. Nothing like that. I just...had a crisis of conscience."

He snarled, "You should. You should be feeling fucking terrible."

She winced. She wanted to thank him. For not killing her. For even considering helping after what she had done. But it would be hollow. How do you express gratitude for the hijacking of someone's meat suit? The answer was you didn't. She would just have to hope he needed her help sometime so that she could repay the debt. Her entire life seemed to be revolving around debt. She hoped this new obligation would not end up costing her life. Her fingers played absently with the edge of the table, curling underneath to feel the grain of the bare wood where it had not been polished.

"Still there," he asked a bit less harshly.

"Yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking." She paused and he waited. "I owe you, Dean Winchester. If you ever need my assistance, call on me and you will have it." The words sounded formal. They were. It was a formal pronouncement of a debt. She accidently drew her fingertip along the sharp edge of a nail as she said it, drawing a bead of blood on her skin. A debt of iron, breath, and blood. A powerful thing. She felt the magic snap through her as the last syllable left her lips. It had been the one ritual she had not wanted to learn. Had never learned. Its completion leashed her to her promise. She was shocked when she realized what had happened. Her luck was legendary. She had been bonded to her word without even knowing the fracking ritual to make it official. Rhea groaned and hung her head in defeat. Fate had it in for her.

He chuckled at her words and was about to make some sort of snarky reply when she groaned. "You ok over there," he asked. He really wanted his body back in one piece.

"I'm just peachy, don't worry about me." She laughed, the sound a bit too high-pitched to be somepletely sane. "I'm in your warded safety cabin." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Thanks for listening, Dean, but I think I should go. I..."

Dean didn't hear what else she was going to say. For a moment he thought the phone had cut out. Rhea had paused because she could hear footsteps outside. She forgot all about Dean on the other end of the connection and had set the phone down on the table. The sound of the phone hitting a hard surface was not pleasant, but he didn't hang up. He knew something was wrong. He could hear the scrape of wood on wood, the chair being shoved back. Fabric rustled as Rhea stood in a rush. She wasn't quiet as she crossed the distance to the window and peeked out, keeping as much of her profile out of view as possible. Shit. There were three distinct figures weaving through the trees, keeping to the shadows already growing black in the approaching twilight. She heard Dean's voice urgent over the phone's speaker before she took out the battery, effectively ending the connection. When she got back to the window the figures were gone. Fear skittered along her spine, tightening borrowed muscles till her back was ramrod straight.

A stick snapped from the side of the small cabin, too close. Rhea put her back to the bit of wall on one side of the front door. She held the gun Dean had given her in both hands like a prayer, nearly kissing the barrel, and slid to a crouch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to write in Dean's POV this chapter. In fact, twice I caught myself doing it. Argh.
> 
> Also, more Easter Eggs!


	10. No Safe Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected assistance comes from an unexpected source. Also, Dean is not happy. Is Dean ever happy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really getting into the whole cheeky hidden references thing. Did you catch my nod to Neil Gaiman? And Constantine?

Rhea closed her eyes when the glass broke, the window shattering inward. The object that caused it landed on the floor hard and bounced, leaving deep gouges where the unyielding rock met softer material, like a hardwood table. She shrank back against the wall, as if she could will herself invisible. She really didn't want to die. Not in this body. Not like this. The door burst open and swung towards her violently. Metal hinges when flying. This was it. The cabin consisted of one room, and the bathroom was too close to the broken window.

It took a moment's effort for Rhea to open her eyes. Polished leather shoes, something Italian and expensive, stepped through the ruined doorway. The shoes were attached to a gray pinstripe business suit. Strangely, her eyes stopped on a small golden coin the man was bouncing across his fingers. Its was mesmerizing. So much so that his face didn't even register. She got a good look at the gun in his other hand too and she coudln't help but wonder what bad Bond film this villian had crawled out of. Like all villians, he wasn't alone. Across the room a woman with long blonde hair was climbing through the now empty frame. The woman she recognized. A mantra of 'not again' was repeating in her head.

Rhea gripped the gun in her hand tighter, her trigger finger thankfully straight alongside the barrel. She felt a burst of cold go though her, like every cell of her body had been plunged into an icy bath before she was tumbling backward with a yelp. Her shoulders hit soft earth and the back of her head collided with the trunk of a small tree. She got up and started running before she even realized that she was outside. She was outside and she had been inside. She was too busy trying to stay alive to understand.

She heard an angry feminine voice yell, "Where is he?" She ran faster.

She had been running for several minutes when the ache of the blow to her head registered. She stopped, propping herself up against a towering hardwood, and rubbed at the tender area. Pain flared up and she didn't like the smear of blood on her fingers when she brought it back into view. It wasn't a lot of blood, though. She must have scraped her scalp on the rough bark of the tree when she fell. Rhea needed a moment to catch her breath. Dean's body was a machine and her respiratory rate had barely risen in her flight from the cabin. Rhea, however, was still reeling from the events that had transpired. She kept her eyes open, but what she was seeing wasn't the forest around her. She replayed the moments just before she found herself on the ground outside.

No matter how many times she tried she couldn't figure out how she had escaped. One moment she had been pressed to the wall of the cabin hoping Dean's muscle memory would help her survive, and the next moment she had found herself flat on her back in the dirt with fresh head wound. There had been. Little more than a vague sensation of cold in between. The woman climbing through the window, however, was familiar. That brief glimpse of her facial profile had been enough. Rhea wondered where her brunette sister was now. She had not imagined the sight of three people coming out of the woods for her.

She needed to get back to the car. The car she had parked right in front of the cabin, like an idiot. She felt around and found the keys in her pocket, letting her breathe a little easier. If she could just get behind that wheel before those three figured out what was going on she might be home free. She faced the tree supporting her and slid around the trunk until she could see around it. She hadn't gotten so far from the car that it wouldn't be possible to see what was going on. Dean's eye sight was impressive. His night vision was sharp and well defined and she had no trouble discerning that she was fucked. The brunette was sitting on the hood of her stolen car. The suit walked up to her and after a moment she pointed almost directly at Rhea.

Rhea sucked in a breath and pulled back behind the tree again. How long ago had that tea worn off? She hoped the dvergr magic nose was a short-range sort of thing. So, the car was a no-go. She peeked at the cabin. Neither had moved from their positions by the car. That was promising. If she could get far enough into the woods they might lose her. She scanned the trees around her. She doubted a simple mad dash would work. They would spot her now that they apparently knew her direction. No, she would have to move from trunk to trunk and hope she was quiet enough.

Rhea pushed away from the tree, took a steadying breath, and ran. Her heart was pounding, fluttering in her chest, but her feet were steady and her steps sure. She flew over the forest floor like she had been born to it, and perhaps Dean had been. She had made barely a sound by the time her back was pressed up against another tree and she was already moving to the next one. Her heart rate slowly calmed.

A few minutes later she had repeated this process until she had gotten nearly a football field away. The three people, however, were much closer. She was contemplating her next move when she saw movement to her right and forgot all about the bleeding head wound and the pursuit hounding her. Another figure flitted soundlessly to her left. Rhea dropped to a crouch and flattened herself against the roots of the forest. She hoped the gloom was enough to hide her. Just how many people were after her this time? Another face face peered down at her from its perch among the branches above. She nearly screamed.

The creature, though, was unfazed and merely said, "Hello." Its voice had a sing-song quality that reminded her of wind chimes and the whistling wind.

She looked upon the rough face and as the thing descended she realized she was looking at what could be described as a humanoid walking, talking tree. Its skin was a deep brown color overlaid with bark. Its hair was a fine mass of tiny vivid green leaves. Its eyes were a burnt orange color like polished orbs of amber set into the carved wooden face, devoid of pupil or sclera. She offered a weak smile, "Umm, hello." Hope shimmered behind her eyes.

It cocked its head like a bird, assessing her. "Fear not, Child of Door. I and mine will show you the way." Its face was nearly upon her now, less than two feet separating them. She could make out the minute changes in expression it made as it spoke.

Another one walked over to her from the shadows. This one had nearly white skin but otherwise looked perfectly human. When it got close, however, she could see its hair was not a deep brown color, its head-vines were. "Why would you do that," she asked.

It didn't respond. Instead, it started walking. The other two disappeared into the darkness, leaving her two options. She could go it alone or she could risk trusting the strange creatures. They hadn't seemed malevolent. Indeed, they seemed neutral. So she shrugged and followed the white-skinned figure through the shadows. They moved at a brisk pace and periodically she found herself being handed off to another guide, like some odd game of relay race.

The walking ended at the mouth of a small cave. The green-skinned figure she was currently following suddenly stopped and pointed into the black opening in front of her.

"What will happen," she asked as she approached.

"We will lead away those that mean you harm," it explained.

"And after," she continued.

"You will leave this forest unharmed," it said.

She shook her head, "What if I no longer am in control of this body. Will you harm him?"

It wrinkled its nose, "This forest knows the body as well, Child of Door. He will come to no harm this night." It pointed to the mouth of the cave, "Go. Rest. You are safe." Then it disappeared, walking straight into the bark of a nearby evergreen.

Safe. Right. For this night. Rhea knew all about supernatural oathes. The devil is in the details and most magical creatures adhered to the exact wording of a promise and any twisted interpretation they can come up with. Harm could mean many dangerous and permanent things to creatures that are very hard to kill. It wasn't like she had much choice, however. Sure, she could pit herself against the two dvergr and whatever else had come with them. She hadn't fared very well the first time. She wasn't likely to do any better this time.

Her mind made up, Rhea stepped into the cave and felt around. Trying to stand up only got her head smacked on a jagged stone ceiling. Instead, she was forced to crawl around on hands and knees until she reached a good spot. It was dry and relatively clear of debris. There was a storm front coming in from the north. Already the wind was beginning to whistle at the mouth of the cave. She wrapped the jacket around her as she began to notice the chill. Dean's musculature ran hot, so it was no more than a minor annoyance. She, however, was used to a slight feminine frame that couldn't maintain core temperature without three blankets and a space heater.

She propped herself up against the stone at her back, drawing her legs up. Her eyes closed rather quickly. Too quickly. A sense of heaviness cloaked her, drawing her under the tide. She had a fleeting moment to wonder if somehow someone had slipped her a tranquilizer before she fell asleep.

_Dean was pacing. It hadn't taken him long to figure out what was happening when he lost consciousness. It had been alluring, seeing himself through his own eyes again. He had even managed to use it to track her movements. That little trick had saved her, and his meat suit, from whatever the hell had been going on. It had looked like a torture room with the restraints and the sharp objects. There had even been fresh blood everywhere. His body hadn't had a scratch on it, though. The skin had been pristine beneath his fingertips despite the blood sticking to it._

_Now, however, he couldn't seem to fall asleep. He was too keyed up. Dean was an action oriented type of man and he hated feeling helpless. Unfortunately, that is exactly what he was at the moment, helpless. He was hours away and practically unarmed on top of that. He didn't even have his car. He finally settled into a chair by the door, his face set into a permanent glower laced with worry.  
The girl had a penchant for trouble. There was a possibility she had it even worse than he did, and that was saying something impressive. There was also the little fact that she was walking around in his rather fine physique. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Waited. Nope, not even close falling asleep. At this point Dean would settle for passing out. Hell, he was contemplating a good strong hit to the head. Waking up with a cracked skull and a concussion would serve her right._

_He palmed the phone and pressed a button so the screen would light. It had been over an hour. Unable to wait any longer, he dialed the phone he had given her. He let it ring until voicemail picked it up. He glared at the offending object and was surprised when it started ringing._

_"What the hell happened," he asked, a bit miffed at Rhea for making him wait so long._

_A smooth cultured male voice greeted him, "It took but a moment to locate the device. I am assuming, however, that you expected someone else on the line?"_

_He got very worried._

_The silence was telling. The man continued, "I thought so." He hummed, "I am afraid your friend is indisposed at the moment. Is there a message you wish for me to pass along?"_

_Dean wondered if he would know if his body had suffered a mortal wound. Would that undo the spell only for him to die of his injuries? He hoped not. "What do you want," he growled. He winced, however, when the sound was more cute than threatening. He was beginning to develop a minor, tiny grain of sympathy for the female gender. He hadn't realized how much he had relied on his deep male voice until he no longer had it._

_The man tsked, "I can see that the finer points of civilized conduct are lost on you. I won't bother then." He could hear the squeak of wood over the speaker. "Your friend has nowhere to go, darling," he said with a superior tone. "We will find the coward and we have very effective methods of making anyone talk."_

_"Why are you telling me?"_

_"So that you may help your boyfriend, of course," He sounded delighted with the question. "We have no interest in him. We only want Athrai," he explained very reasonably._

_He laughed, "I have no idea who that is, asshole."_

_He clucked his tongue, "I think you are lying. No matter. I am told that your friend stinks of the drow. He will know of what I speak." A woman's voice spoke near the receiver, though the volume was too low for him to make out the words. "Think on it, my lady." Then he hung up._

_Dean was not happy. Truthfully, Dean was not happy quite often. His entire life was one big not happy. And what the fuck is a drow?_

_It didn't take much longer for him to make up his mind. He had agreed to sit and wait fo the time to run out. He hadn't said anything about staying conscious. The ingredients of your basic sleeping drought could be found in just about any grocery store. Combining them into an effective potion was just as ridiculously easy. The problem was judging exactly how much to drink for Rhea's smaller mass. He sniffed the foul brew, shrugged, and downed the entire thing in one gulp. To call the taste unpleasant would be an understatement. He had enough time to wash his mouth out with water and set the glass on the bathroom counter. He didn't make it to the bed._

_Rhea's skull hit the carpet hard as he crumpled to the floor._

Rhea was both the man huddled against the stone wall and the woman sprawled on a stained motel carpet. Male and female. Blinking in the yawning blackness and steadily breathing stale moldy air. For what seemed an eternity she was both, and neither, and she had no clue where she was. She had no sense of time or place. No sense of identity. She had no name.

Pain pulled at her, demanded her attention, but she couldn't figure out what it was or where it was coming from. It was as if she was pain, entirely of pain. A presence passed through her, by her, around her.

Dean!

They spoke without words of everything and nothing. Words made of peripheral nerve impulses, peristaltic waves, actin- myosin couplings, sacral spinal reflexes and on and on and on.

_Dean was seriously reconsidering his decision-making skills. Instead of looking through his own eyes he was seeing...something else. He couldn't call what he was doing seeing really. Sure, his mind was constructing shapes and color and light levels in response to external stimuli, but he doubted that stimuli had an even passing relationship to photonic waves. This was more of an amorphous dreamscape, a blank template that no one had bothered to work with yet._

_He floated, existed, became for what seemed like hours, or seconds. He was the landscape, the blankness, detached. He belonged nowhere and he didn't understand that it should be different._

_Then he got...something. The rough scrape of stone on a fresh head wound. The sweet scent of impending rain, rotting leaves._

His masculinity brushed up against her and she felt feminine. Like an epiphany of self realization she was female. Woman. 

Rhea. She dove. 

And then it was over and she was rolling over and coughing in a cheap motel room at the ass end of civilization. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The creatures are my interpretation of tree spirits.
> 
> I have indulged my impulse to write a timestamp in Dean's POV regarding this chapter. It is partially written, but it may take a couple weeks to finish it.


	11. Circling Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the circumstances surrounding the Prologue are understood.
> 
> WARNING: veiled threat of rape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Med School + illness = no time to write, or anything else I wanted to do the past two weeks *grumble*
> 
> Thank you all of you who have been following this fic. As my first ever fic I must say it has gone quite well. I have settled on the magical number 13 total chapters, counting a Prologue and Epilogue. If you like my writing, please check out my profile to see what other projects I am working on.
> 
> I was thinking of this song while I was writing the last bit of this chapter...  
> Neil Young "Old Man" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYUgGs9IStY

She felt like a Mack truck had decided to drive through her brain. Coughing turned into dry heaves which turned into actual spewing of chunks. The tub now smelled horrible and the stench of half-digested food and stomach acid started the entire process over again. She was vomiting yellow goop by the time she realized she needed to leave the room entirely for things to settle down. She stumbled into the sunlight, shaky on her own legs again.

She was kneeling on the concrete trying not to puke up her own liver when it hit her. Judging from the angle of the sun it was either late morning or early afternoon. Last she could recall it had been somewhere around 2am. Exactly how long had the  
spell taken to reverse?

Her worrying was dampened by the quiet satisfaction that took over her at the sight of her garishly green car. It crouched like some giant cat on the cracked asphalt, looking beautiful as ever. She could almost hear it purr. The pain pulsed behind her eyes, once, twice. She hadn't missed the headaches. She squinted, swallowed a moan of pain, and slowly made her way to that mass of metal and machinery. She realized Dean might have taken pity on her when she found the keys in her pocket and her backpack in the backseat. She collapsed into the passenger seat. In the glovebox she found painkillers and a bottle of water, her emergency stash. She didn't even notice when she dropped off to sleep, the pounding in her skull pulling her under.

When she woke the sun was slipping below the horizon and the pain had slipped away. She yawned and rubbed her eyes absently. She hadn't dreamed. A big smile broke over her face. She couldn't remember a single thing about what had been going on inside of her head while the rest of her had checked out. No memories, twisted hallucinations, or freaky first-person visions from Dean. Things were looking up. She finished off the water bottle and slid into the driver's seat, the pseudo-leather welcomed her back. She turned the key and laughed at the sudden roar of the engine responding to the slight tap of her toes on the gas pedal. She was home. The Impala had been sweet, but she had missed her cherry stolen Charger.

It didn't take long for trouble to find her. Dean might have left her painkillers alone, but he didn't leave her much gas in the tank. It was a classic 'fuck you'. She would have laughed if she hadn't figure it out until halfway down some bumpkin country road with no gas station for miles. A very inventive string of colorful metaphors echoed in the quiet when she felt the first raindrop. The fact that Dean had also traded out her moderately utilitarian canvas shoes for a pair of sandals, thankfully not two dollar Walmart specials, was just ice cream on this shit pie.

She glared up at the sky as if she could intimidate it into not raining on her. Unsurprisingly it didn't work. Droplets dotted her hair, dripped from her nose, and got into her eyes. By the time she took shelter she was miserable and nearly in tears and silently vowing Dean's utter destruction. She'd go all Kali on his ass and....

She sighed and realized she most likely would do nothing. She just didn't have it in her. Not after everything she had put him through so far. It didn't help that everytime she thought of him the words adorable sex god popped into her head. Someone had planted them there. That was the only logical explanation. There was no way she could ever find that infuriating man, well, that. She leaned up against the massive tree whose leaves were currently keeping the worst of the weather from her. Who was she kidding? He was pretty and great in bed, and if she thought about it long enough...

Nope. That's it. No more thinking for Rhea. Despite the fact that the rain had not let up she decided to venture out into it anyways. She hunched her shoulders and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her shorts. The temperature was dropping rapidly and she wasn't dressed for it. She really wished she had been able to pack a few things before fleeing her house.

Luck finally smiled on her. The rain had quickly slowed to a light drizzle and then ceased long before she spied the harsh glow of fluorescent lights in the distance. The still dropping temperature had her shivering, but her shirt was only mildly damp and her hair was dry. Her mood was decidedly soured as she stomped through the single door on the tiny gas station convenience store. In one corner was an aged ten cup coffee machine and the row of chip bags looked dusty. Even the man behind the counter looked worn. She decided to skip dinner.

Rhea grabbed a two gallon gas can and plunked it down on the counter. Ten minutes later she was hauling two gallons of gas back to her car. The walk back didn't seem so long. It's funny how perception works. A distance tends to seem longer when you have no clue where the destination actually is. Time becomes something slow and frustratingly sluggish.

The Charger was exactly where she left it, pulled off into the grass and nearly cloaked by the shadows of the trees on both sides of the road. It wasn't alone, though, and she didn't realize this fact until she had already been spotted. "Well shit," she muttered as two heads lifted from their inspection of the blacktop. Two big men in jeans and dirty winter jackets had been leaning up against her car. She stopped walking and set the gas can down.

"There you are," one said. His skin was dark, like roasted cinnamon, and though he looked very hispanic his accent was a down home country drawl. Rural Georgia if she wasn't mistaken. His chest was wide and bulky. If she got up close and personal Rhea wouldn't stand a chance.

The other, a pale man taller and thinner than the other, pointed his thumb at his companion and spoke in a friendly conversational tone, "My friend here was about to go looking for you."

She spoke brightly, "Happy I could accomodate." She side-stepped, getting closer to the thicket of trees, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"A little birdy told us you have your uncle's ring," the blonde replied.

She held up her hand, "This old thing? It's pewter and hardly worth coming all the way out here for it." She took another step, "Are you sure it's what you are looking for?"

The bulkier man squinted and started walking towards her. "Hand it over and I'll tell you," he said.

Rhea made a break for it. She dashed into the woods and ran, leaping over obstacles like a cross country track star. She had hope for about three minutes, the time it took for the darker man to take her down. She landed on the rough forest floor on her stomach with his weight on her back. She landed so hard her lungs emptied in a whoosh and she couldn't even take a breath in. He was crushing her ribcage. She was quickly immobilized due to the shock of the impact she had yet to get over. It wasn't like she got tackled by armed linebackers everyday, you know.

"Don't run, sweet thing. Or do. It'll only excite me," he growled into her ear.

Her breathing picked up, sudden fear making her nauseous. She even squeaked. Freakin' squeaked.

"If I let you up will you behave," he asked.

Since Rhea had expected something much more sinister, and violating, she was surprised at the question. "Ummm, sure," she finally said.

He stood and hauled her off the ground with him, his grip on her wrist like a band of steel. It hurt. He started walking without talking to her and she could do nothing but follow. When they reached the road the moon had been obscured by a fresh wave of clouds. The man turned around and pulled the ring from her finger, conveniently located on the hand trapped by his death grip on her wrist. She suspected that it had been a strategic choice.

A snowflake hit her nose. Perfect. Just what she needed.

He held the little piece of metal up to the dwindling glow of the moon and harrumphed.

His companion must have figured out the meaning of that unintelligible noise and produced a flash light. "Junk," he announced.

"Yeah," the other grunted. He yanked on her arm to get her attention. "Where is it," he demanded.

She winced then shrugged, "Maybe if I knew what you are looking for..." More tiny bits of geometric ice started landing on her head in a steady gentle fall. Her skin rose in tiny goosebumps all over her body and a little shiver went from the bottoms of her feet to her jaw. Her teeth began shaking and she fought not to let them clack together.

The pale one scowled. "A ring," he began and continued on to describe the ring she now knew as Athrai.

Fucking hell. That little worm had ratted her out. They hadn't been looking for anything specific the last time. She was sorely tempted to kick his squealing ass when she got out of this. When, not if. She took a chance, "I have something called the Light of Elune. Does that mean anything to you?"

The darker one seemed intrigued, "Where?"

Here goes nothing, "In the mail?" He looked about ready to punch her, or something. His buddy pulled a gun and held it pointed down by his thigh. "Wait," she yelled, "I overnighted it to a PO Box my uncle kept not far from here."

The pale one drew close, nearly nose to nose. "You actually put a Light of Elune in the mail," he asked incredulously.

She gulped, "Yes?" A stray gust of wind ruffled her hair, stealing whatever warmth she had managed to generate in the last few minutes.

The bulky one released her wrist and pointed to the road beneath her feet, "Sit down."

She looked at the shine of wet black top and hesitated. That looked . "Can't I just stand here? You've already made it perfectly clear I can't outrun you," she pointed out.

The gun got aimed at her very quickly. "Sit the fuck down," he snarled.

The wind was chill and the cold was freezing the ends of her toes. Tiny specks of white fell and then melted on the gleaming hood of her lime green 1973 Dodge Charger a few feet away. If she had known she'd end up in Ruby, South Carolina in a freaking snow storm she would have traded her sandals for a sturdy pair of closed toed boots, but no day could be planned perfectly. If she made it home this time she vowed to leave her Doc Martens in the damn trunk for emergencies.

The gun in her face, a Ruger .38 she now noticed, gestured demandingly to her right and she looked at the spot of dirty pavement she had been instructed to "sit the fuck down" on. It was wet and cold and so not what she wanted to do. But, she adjusted her mini jean shorts and lowered herself down, wincing as the wet chill spread from her backside in a steady numbing ache.

Great. At this rate she'd probably die of hypothermia before the bullet had the chance.

The pale one pulled out a pair of handcuffs and she rolled her eyes as he cuffed her right wrist to her left ankle. Awesome. Just perfect. She sulked and tried not to rattle her teeth out of her skull while they walked a little ways away and spoke low.

When they returned they didn't look any less menacing. In fact, the pale one looked at her like she would make a good lamp shade. He narrowed his eyes and demanded, "Where." He didn't look convinced.

This was the point where they would make her talk and then kill her. Maybe even bury her in the forest in the shallow grave. Yep. She was doomed. Her eyes got big and she shook her head weakly. "Only if you promise to bring me along and leave me there. Unharmed," she countered.

The big one spoke up then, "I don't see why not." He looked to his companion for confirmation who gave a small nod. It was more of a slight jerk of the chin really, but he understood it as some sort of signal.

She looked from one to the other. "Does that mean I can get off the freezing wet ground," she nearly demanded.

The pale one shrugged and knelt down to open the cuffs. Rhea was grateful until she found her wrists cuffed together instead of the freedom she had been expecting. He lifted her to her feet and she was careful not to move too quickly or appear as if she was readying to run away again. Getting shot in the back was not on her list of must do experiences. They packed her into the back of their stereotypical bad guy black SUV and left the Charger behind, despite her protestations.

Next stop, the post office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, Bella was my favorite woman on Supernatural.


	12. Double Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea comes out ahead, barely.
> 
> WARNING: none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go.

Rhea had no idea how she had pulled it off. She currently had two playing cards stuffed down the back of her underwear, the laminate surface sticking uncomfortably to her skin. The pale one was holding the other item that had been in the envelope and both men seemed none the wiser. Things were looking up. His companion was slowly ripping the flimsy white envelope into little pieces, though. The sound was unnerving, but otherwise benign. The only real problem with this entire situation was her current position in the back of their black SUV and she could do nothing about it. Her first move had been the try the door. Yep, that would have been nice. The only issue was they had been thoughtful enough to engage the child locks. The internal door release had been useless. Fucking child locks. So, she was sulking in the back while they bickered in front of her.

"Does this clear my uncle's debt," she asked.

The bulky one turned. "What are we supposed to do with this," he asked angrily. He was shaking the card in his hand, the one clearly showing a glowing white orb with a tag proclaiming it to be a Light of Elune.

She shrugged, "My uncle didn't explain that." Well, technically it was true. He hadn't even hinted at the whole stuffing three dimensional objects into a one dimensional plane...thing. She had to think up a name for it. Card surfing? No. Magical Multidimensional Compression? That one made her snicker. MMC. But, no. Ooo, how about Mistress of KeepAway. She liked that one.

He handed her the card. "Take it out," he demanded.

She made a show of looking very intently at the card. "Take what out," she asked. She turned it over. "It's some painting my uncle told me had value. It's called Light of Elune, correct?"

The big one scowled. "The Light of Elune is an item of magical power, not some paint on a playing card. Take it out," he repeated as he pointed his gun at her again, "or I will make some very messy holes in you."

Oh wonderful, he was graduating from rape threats to torture. She ran her fingertips over the surface, concentrating on not doing what she suspected he wanted. The last thing she needed them to know was the fact that she may not be some vanilla human her uncle had adopted. She had no clue what she was anymore and she wasn't even sure who her uncle had been in truth. The fact that he could apparently do the same neat trick had shaken her and she was just beginning to realize how much. "What are you saying," she pressed. She couldn't let on that she knew anything. Her current mode of operation was play dumb. They had swallowed the helpless woman routine earlier. She was hoping it would work a second time. She needed more information.

"You have the real Light of Elune somewhere on you," he flicked the card at her, hitting her square in the chest.

She laughed, she couldn't help it. The stress was making her a little loopy. "Please, tell me where I can hide something in this outfit," she scoffed. She still wasn't wearing a jacket.

He looked her up and down and something told her he was about to strip search her before he changed his mind. He grabbed the card in her lap instead. She flinched. "You are telling me your uncle told you that this was the Light of Elune," he asked.

She nodded, "Yes." Technically, yes.

The pale one added, "He was rumored to be something Other. Maybe he had the gift." Rhea was about to jump for joy. "I know someone who might be able to figure this out."

"Fine, but she is coming with us," the bulky one added. "Boss will have our asses. He hates not getting paid."

There was that sick feeling of panic again. "Oh no, you said you would let me go," she pointed out. "I gave you everything you wanted. You have the ring and you have the Elune thing. So, let me go already."

"No," he replied.

"How was I supposed to know," she asked. That got her tied up and stuffed into the trunk behind the rearmost seats. She kicked the side panel until her legs hurt. She even tried yelling. That got her threatened with the gun again. Today was getting very annoying, and if she was forced to admit it today was also turning out rather scary.

What's funny is they missed the cell phone wedged between the carpet mat and the side panel near her head. She had hit her head on it when they dropped her in the back. It was a tiny slim little thing that could barely pass as a phone, but it was better than nothing. She just hoped she remembered the number correctly. She reached for it and smiled as it slid effortlessly into her hand. They had made another mistake. They had tied her hands in front of her. Sloppy. Her smile got even bigger when she discovered the battery still had a charge.

She heard a gruff voice say, "Yeah," on the other end. The connection was shit, but that word was crystal clear.

"Dean," she stupidly whispered.

He hung up.

She called again.

"Go away," he growled and hung up.

She blurted out, "They are going to kill me," before he could even take a breath on the next attempt.

"How does that concern me," he replied. He still sounded angry.

She tried to calm her thoughts. "I can make it worth your while," she tried. "You're a hunter, right? You sometimes need a little nonstandard assistance? I could owe you one. I know people." Her voice hissed over the airwaves and she really hoped the two men in front weren't hearing her over the radio.

Silence.

"My uncle taught me how to see through illusions" she blurted.

"That doesn't help me," he replied.

"I could teach you," she hissed into the phone.

He grumbled unintelligeably before sighing like some great weight had just settled on his shoulders. "I'm going to regret this. What do you need," he asked.

"I need a diversion. They stuffed me into the back of their SUV. Can you track this phone," she asked.

"How many?"

"Two," she said with relief.

The silence was almost deafening until she heard him say, "Keep this line open," and then he set the phone down.

Rhea stuffed the phone out of sight and started working on her bindings. It was slow and painful work. She didn't have enough time to make any progress, though, before they were parked. The brakes squealed in protest and she slammed against the metal supports of the SUV's seating as the tires slid to a halt. She tried not to dwell on exactly how beaten she was going to look when this was all over. If she was alive when this was all over.

Doors opened and closed. She struggled to sit up, hoping the window was low enough to allow her a glimpse of the surroundings. She managed to see the edge of a brown peaked roof before the back doors were wrenched open and her view was blocked by a looming evil henchman number one, the pale one.

From there things happened very quickly. She had expected Dean to have more time to set something up, to actually reach her. There was no way he could help her now. She had no idea what direction they had been traveling and that cabin in the woods was not close enough regardless. She was certain she would be on her own after all. She was hauled to her feet and given a push toward the building when things went sideways.

Rhea had learned a few new things in the past few days, so when she heard gunfire she dove. She barely noticed the mouthful of gravel and the scrapes on her bound hands. She was too busy trying not to get shot to wonder who could be behind the trigger.

In the confusion the big one grabbed her and threw her against the side of the car. Her head cracked against the glass, stars appearing in her vision. "Who is out there," he snarled. She tried to wiggle away and he pressed her into the metal behind her with his bulk.

Another shot sounded, distracting him. He lifted up and fired a few rounds in the general direction of the gunfire. Rhea bit her lip and dropped. She was just barely able to slide her body between his and the SUV, falling to the ground. She knew she was no badass. She'd probably break her fingers punching the meat-head. She was, however, small and slim. Yep, that's right, she was tiny enough to crawl under the car and hopefully not get shot. She was also not too vain to do it. So she suffered the rough scrape of gravel on her skin as she fit herself beneath the SUV in a hurry.

She had an interesting vantage point while she was down there too. There was a knife tucked into the side of the darker one's shoe. She was tempted. Things moved in a blur after that. She managed to get her hands on the knife and sawed into one of the man's Achille's tendons. He listed sideways when that limb suddenly ceasd working and took two hits to the chest. The other one finally fell with a bullet graze to the skull, the pool of blood slowly growing beneath him. Rhea shrank into the center of the SUV's undercarriage.

With no more targets forthcoming the gunfire stopped, only to be replaced by the sound of footsteps. She gripped the knife along her forearm. She would only get one chance. The footsteps drew close, revealing battered jeans and work boots. The figure knelt down and green eyes framed in freckles came into view.

Rhea made an unintelligeable sound and practically launched herself at Dean once she was out from under the vehicle. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. He stood stock still, almost as if he was shocked at her outburst and then tentatively patted her upper back, awkwardly, before attempting to extricate himself. She didn't even notice when he took the small knife from her grip and tucked it away in his clothing.

He chuckled. "That glad to see me," he asked.

She mumbled something, one hand sliding up beneath his layers.

He reached back and grabbed her wandering limb. "Hey! None of that. Last time we did that I woke up a woman. It's enough to give a man a complex," he grumped. His grip, however, was gentle and his tone was more playful than angry. His thumb rubbed light circles on her wrist and his other hand threaded through her hair. He seemed in no hurry to be free of her. Rhea's tension began to dissipate. Once he was sure she wasn't going to fall over or pass out he checked the bodies.

"Are they dead," she asked. She wasn't sure what answer she was hoping for.

Sirens were steadily approaching from the distance. Dean shook his head. "C'mon. Our ride is waiting," he said instead. He grabbed her hand and she didn't fight him.

They stepped through a door in the side of the building, mishapen and crooked. When they reached the other side, however, the sky overhead was different. The air was colder and she could practically feel the snow clouds bearing down on them. Rhea turned around, shrugging off Dean's light grip on her upper arm. The building they had just exited looked nothing like the building they had entered. Then as she watched the wall sealed shut as if there had never been a door in the first place. She even stared, transfixed, as a dark-haired girl in rags disappeared down a storm drain through an opening barely big enough to fit a good sized rat. Rhea was certain now that she was slowly going insane. She had found her uncle's bleeding corpse, cracked, and was now hopped up on halidol in a psych ward somewhere.

"She told me not to say anything," Dean was saying.

She blinked, "Who?"

He popped open Baby's trunk. "Your friend Door," he answered. He sorted through the contents and came back up with a worn spiral notebook and a pen. "You can write it down on this," he said as he held them out to her.

She blinked and just looked at the paper.

He tapped the notebook. "My instructions," he clarified. She blinked. "To see through illusions," he continued. "Did you really think I did all that for fun?"

"Right," she said. "Right. The ointment." She hastily scribbled down the recipe for a true-seeing ointment and instructions on how to use it.

He took the notebook from her and didn't seem to like what he saw. "Petroleum jelly, four leaf clover, and St. John's Wort." He pursed his lips, looking very delectable while obviously not trying. "That's it?"

She nodded. "Well, that and you have to mix it thoroughly during a new moon using the ritual," she leaned over and pointed at certain parts of the instructions she had given him. "Then spread it here, here, and here," she said while touching her eyelids, upper lip, and earlobes. "The petroleum is just a useful carrier. It isn't strictly necessary. You can use any magically neutral substance as long as its chemical properties and consistency are acceptable to your needs." She sat back. "One batch can last years, though it does tend to lose potency over time," she explained.

He folded the paper. "I think I got it, Brittanica," he snarked.

She gave him a cheeky grin, "Asshole." The mood immediately lifted. "Who's Door," she asked. The tree people had called her Child of Door. They couldn't have meant it literally. She was now intrigued.

"English chic, about yey-high," Dean said while holding his hand at the level of his pectorals. "She said something about London below. That mean anything to you?" He opened the trunk and rattled a small hex box before picking up his emergency cash.

"About as much as the last few days," she replied. "Listen, thanks. You didn't have to help me." Her eyes followed the box.

He grunted. "It's the family business," he said as if that explained everything. He counted off a couple hundred dollars, enough for a good meal and a bus ticket home, and handed it to her.

She waved off the cash, pushing it back into his chest. She wasn't a thief. Not if she could help it. "Why did you come back for me," she pondered. She relaxed a little when he closed the trunk and walked to the front of the car.

He slid into the driver's seat and closed the door. "Ask the Brit," he answered, "and don't cause any more trouble." He turned the key and she sang. "Most hunters are the shoot first don't ask questions type."

Rhea fiddled with the hem of her jeans shorts.

"Well, are you getting in or not," Dean asked a bit impatiently.

"What?"

He leaned over and opened the passenger door. "I'll take you to the nearest bus station," he said.

She slid into the seat with a smile.

"Not one word," he ordered. A moment later AC/DC was blasting from the speakers and the Impala was leaping onto the highway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed Door from Neil Gaiman's novel _Neverwhere_. Check it out. I have yet to find a book of his that I didn't absolutely adore. I just might have possibly used her simply so I could point you in his direction. *sheepish*
> 
> The ability to place 3D objects into a 2D plane as well as the decision to use playing cards were inspired by Cassandra Clare's _The Mortal Instruments_ book series.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story wrap-up.
> 
> WARNINGS: none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. This is the end of the line for this fic. Thank you for sticking with me. Your comments kept my inspiration going. Stay tuned because I have two timestamps and a sequel planned, all Winchester-centric now that I have had some practice with Dean.
> 
> Please comment and tell me if you want a sequel with both Sam and Dean, just Sam, or just Dean. I was thinking of making a case fic out of it. That means I am also taking suggestions for the monster of the week. And yes, somehow I will write fresh smut scenes for it.
> 
> Can you guess who my surprise cameo character is?

Dean was miles away when he stopped to stretch. After the bus station he'd just jumped into the Impala and gotten the hell out of dodge. You know, just in case Rhea decided she wanted to take him for another joy ride. He'd left her alive too. She wasn't a witch. This entire fiasco had been over some magical trinket, a silly little ring he now had locked up in the trunk. Without it she couldn't do much more damage, he hoped.

On the side of the road he performed a set of moves designed to restore optimum circulation to his body. No way was he calling it yoga. Nope. It was stretching, that he just happened to learn from a yoga instuctor. Yeah. He started with a moment of cyclic tensing and relaxing of his muscles from the top of his head to his toes. Idealy, he would be doing this barefoot and not in jeans, but he wasn't going that far. And no way was he going to put on any of that new age wind chime music crap. Down to touch his toes. Count to one hundred. He had enough trouble initially admitting that the beginning meditation was essential, and even a little enjoyable. Lean back. Count to twenty. His mind slowly quieted as he concentrated on the physical movements and the measured deep breathing. Legs hip width apart, arms spread wide, side bends. Count to fifty. Freaking chair-whatever. Count to one hundred. That one was his favorite. It looked ridiculous but he always felt wonderful afterwards. He cycled through the fifteen poses he knew from memory, moving slowly and with purpose, and when he was done the normal aches and pains from driving all day had melted away. He was finally calm.

When he was done he turned around to get a good look at the car. Baby was also no worse for the wear. There was spattered mud on her fenders and some grass caught in the rim of one wheel. He grimaced. Other than that she appeared to be unscathed. That fact alone did wonders for his mood, and trigger finger.

He crouched down and used a bottle of water to wash away the worst of the dirt marring her shiny black paint. He happily watched the brown muck slide away revealing no lasting damage. Once that task was completed his fingers slid along her reverently, apologetically. He had screwed up and she had nearly paid for it. He didn't even want to think about what could have happened to her. He opened the trunk. He needed to inventory the cache beneath the false bottom and he didn't want to leave the task for another day.

He pawed through the half-assed organizational system that had developed over the years. Only a Winchester would know how to find anything in there, but then only a Winchester should be looking through it in the first place. The assorted weapons, bags of salt, and other various flotsam looked to all be in order.

Dean looked closer. Nothing had ever been easy and this was looking too easy. He rattled a few containers, sniffed the holy water, and even tasted some of the table salt. Then he had a terribly thought. He picked up the little hex box that had been empty not long ago. He shook it and was almost satisfied with the sound it made. He took a breath and opened it.

"Son of a bitch," he grouched.

Inside was a common piece of gravel. The ring was no where in sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ _SPN_ ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhea clutched ratty backpack to her chest as she settled down into a window seat. Dean had given her enough money for a bus ticket and a couple days of cheap eating. She wasn't about to complain. It had been far more than she had expected, or deserved. At the end of it all she had anticipated standing on the side of the road holding only her life in her hands. A spot on a warm bus with a full stomach and a serviceable jacket was practically flush in comparison.

She didn't expect her phone to ring, though. As far as she knew, Dean was the only person with the number. When it did, the shrill tone and rapid vibrations startled her so badly she nearly threw her bag into the seatback in front of her in surprise.

"Ms. Dubhach, this conversation has been long overdue," the smooth male voice crooned over the airwaves.

Rhea resisted the urge to smash the phone into little plastic bits. Instead, she glanced around the half-empty bus nervously and replied, "I don't believe we have met." This had to be the Boss those two goons had been talking about. How the hell had he gotten this number?

He hummed, "Not properly. It was an oversight on my part. One that I intend to rectify."

Nope. That was not happening. He had to be insane to think she would agree to anything even resembling a face-to-face meeting. "You must think I'm daft. Your friends killed my uncle. I have a stronger sense of self-preservation than that," she fished.

"My associates made a regrettable mistake. His kind are notoriously very tricky to kill and the proper precautions were not taken to ensure his survival. Those responsible for his death have been dealt with. It was never my intention to cause your family permanent harm. I simply wished to recover my property," he explained.

"If it is forgiveness you are looking for, you won't get it from me." Ok, admittedly right now she was more bluster than anything else. She just hoped the man wouldn't call her bluff.

"You misunderstand, Ms. Dubhach. I am calling to offer you a job interview," he said.

"But..."

"Strictly freelance and off the books, and you will be well-compensated for your time," he interrupted. "I can also offer the protection of my organization. I have already lost one drogher, I am not prepared to lose another."

Silence. Rhea's mouth was opening and closing but no sound was actually leaving her vocal chords.

"I have two men standing in my office who can attest to your ingenuity. All you have to do is remove the Light of Elune from the playing card you gave them to demonstrate your worth."

"What did my uncle do wrong," she asked.

The man chuckled, "He failed to deliver a recent acquisition. I am sure you know of it." He described her uncle's ring with little inflection, all business. "It is very valuable. If you are truly of The Blood you may even keep It for as long as you remain in my employ. With recent events you may need it."

It was hard not to be suspicious. She was being handed everything she could hope to want on a silver platter. There had to be plenty he wasn't telling her. "What's the catch," she asked.

"Very astute, child. The catch is that as long as you work for me I own you," he said.

She scrunched up her nose as the bus' engine roared to life. "What would I be doing exactly," she asked. "I can't imagine this  
being a mainstream sort of job."

He chuckled, the first hint of warmth in his voice. It was also gone just as quickly as it appeared, like it had never happened. "A drogher. A sort of specialized courier I employ when I want things to remain so far below the radar the term underground is still a bit too transparent. Your uncle was my best. His unique talents made him indispensable to my operations. Those talents are known to flow in his bloodline."

Rhea sighed. "I'm adopted."

"I think we both know that is a lie. Come, and prove me wrong," he replied. "Your safety is guaranteed. No matter the outcome this entire unhappy incident will be forgotten as soon as you walk into my office." He gave her an address and a phone number to call when she arrived.

Rhea hung up without promising anything and stowed the phone. She tugged the cards out of their hiding place, grimacing as the slick surfaces peeled away from her damp skin. On the back of one was the familiar image of a purple bag and the other held the striking likeness of Athrai. Maybe things were looking up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ _SPN_ ~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bus rumbled onto the road, dominating the little two-lane highway with its width as it made its way to the main highway for the long haul. A man-shaped pile of clothing was huddled against a trashcan on the bus station platform. In one hand he held a paper coffee cup and the other clutched a worn cloth bag that looked to have passed its better days years ago. The people at the station had consistently avoided him without acknowledging his existence. He was good as invisible. The dirty clothing and greasy shoulder length hair had served him well in the past as camouflage. Today had been no different. No one noticed the homeless, the forgotten.

The clothing shifted and he stood, revealing a youthful build beneath the costume. His honey brown eyes seemd fixed on the bus as it left the station. His smile was just a little crooked, making him look even more the part of a mischief maker. That slip of a girl had dropped a five into his cup despite her obvious destitute state. Cunning, creativity, ruthlessness, and generosity.

"Well played, Rhea Dhubach," he said with a chuckle, "Coyote is going to love you." He tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear with one hand and raised the other almost theatrically, the cup abandoned on the concrete. A figure, tall and thin, crouched on the roof of the bus as it shrank into the distance and waved back. Some sort of signal seemed to have been passed and the man snapped his fingers and disappeared.

On the bus Rhea startled awake, looking around for the source of the voice that had woken her. She had heard her name. Her search yielded only a rough impression of amusement before the feeling evaporated. Satisfied she was safe for now she curled back into the upholstery and closed her eyes, her breathing deepening as sleep pulled her under once again.

The next time she checked her pocket she would find a hundred dollar bill and a note. It simply read, 'Never be boring. -L'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this chapter came when I dreamed of a bus pulling out from a rural station and this song was playing in the background.
> 
> The Rolling Stones "Sympathy for The Devil" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJTGaJbQu3s


End file.
